


Two Swords

by DeadmansGun



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadmansGun/pseuds/DeadmansGun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you to go to King's Landing with him, Jon Snow… and bring the sword here. I want to see one last time… if wolves run faster than lions."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.

New layers of ice were forming in stalagmites, crowning the length of the white fortress, as they always came in this time of the year. Noticing the pattern of the steady northern wind, which was ice-modeling all the walls upon him and whichever thing came in its path, his eyes fell back into the crooking flames and his hands seek its warmth, sometimes such small kind of comfort often was denied to those who keep the Night’s Watch for this fire was too breakable by this extremes drops of temperature. Yet, there were some kind of whispering words that came when the blasts of icy air stroke, and it wasn’t the first time Jon Snow heard them.

No kidding spending this amount of time alone was playing tricks on him now, but he found himself chuckling at that thought. Lately, there was so little he could do to keep all past memories from awakening and greeting him in this present time. One in particular, which involved two six-year-old boys in the pit of the night, with their voices penetrating the dullness of the courtyard in Winterfell’s castle.

“Robb, what did you do now?” He could see himself scowling at Robb, while rubbing the little hands with his own. “You touched Father’s sword again, didn’t you? You have ice burns in your hands…”

“I saw it. Again…” grinned his brother, he didn’t wince once though he had reasons to do it. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Father forbade you to take Ice again, you forgot? He will be angry when he finds out.”

“I don’t care. I just want him to believe me. I can see something in the sword… something he can’t see.”

“Stop talking about that. There is nothing in the sword.”

“When I took it, I saw something. Eyes in the blade… starring back at me…”

“Your eyes in your reflection, idiot. Honestly, I think Sansa is more mature than you and she’s a baby.” 

Jon hadn’t thought about that for ages since it happened. Both were six years old but he already considered himself as an adult when young, Robb though lived inside this fantasy cloud where anything could be possible and insisted on being invincible in it. It was a long time ago, but now he couldn’t help but thinking about his brother’s odd behavior that night and his words were still ringing in his ears when his sweet boy expression hardener.

“I don’t have yellow eyes.” he had told him. None of them had discussed that again after Jon’s laugh. 

“Jon!” a hooded figure called at his back, emerging clumsily from the darkness. Sam still hadn’t developed fondness to high places, he was no ranger on that field, but he had certainly learned to eradicate what was keeping him from embracing his new life as a man of the Night’s Watch. He had only quivered once when they found frozen bodies in the snow, adjacent to their expedition’s dwellings beyond the Wall.

“Come sit by the fire…” motioned Jon, and his friend squatted down next to him. “Has anyone said anything else about…?”

“Yes, Lord Commander received a word. Outside the East Watch, Cotter Pyke’s men reported four blue eyed corpses, just like the ones we found.” he shrugged, with a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t dare to ask him more. He seemed… well… you wouldn’t want to know…”

“Did they loose somebody?”

“No, they were smart enough to burn them giving the chance. We were lucky to have you and Ghost, too…” explained Sam but Jon wasn’t content at the thought. This shouldn’t have happened to begin with.

“The only thing I worry about now is to be prepared next time… since we can’t rely on luck again.”

“Were you afraid?” Sam asked nervously, everything evolved into a gloomy and menacing atmosphere now much to his dismay. “When you confronted the… dead man?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t give it much thought at the time… Somehow, I just knew what it had to be done to stop it.”

“Well, I hope it goes the same way for me. Though, I’m still working on my fencing skills targeting living people, I guess it’s still too early to tell how I will deal with… corpses.”

“You did well outside the Wall, Sam…” Jon commented, eagerly. “You didn’t pass out when I found the frozen hand. That’s a start…”

“When you found it? Don’t you mean Ghost…?”

Jon’s eyes widened at this sudden realization, his smile slowly fading as seconds had begun to run no taking into consideration what was going on his mind right now. He did mean Ghost… but somehow, blurriness took hold of that moment in his head and for the very first time in his life there wasn’t any certainty regarding this unfamiliarity, and the strangest of all of it was that something was telling him not to antagonize it. Even if he closed his eyes, all he could still see was a part of him and a part of Ghost tracking the hand as one. But it couldn’t be… 

He looked inside of him, every visual piece of that particular day came to life once again but not in the form it did in the past. There was some dualism, both belonging to him and amazingly to Ghost too. He knew he had been there… but not with the rest. He was alone. He remembered his gaze glued to the floor, the silent animalistic pace as he approached and the smell merging from the bodies, which happened to be the end of his hunting. His hunting. It did make sense, horses and hounds had been too frightened to stand close the missing rangers but Ghost wasn’t affected… and the only explanation he could think of was giving the moment his mind had been an extension of Jon’s. A command belonging to him which the wolf seconded, because he knew if he didn’t do it nobody else will. 

How was that possible?

“You spend too much time with Ghost…” Sam joked.

“Yeah, I guess so...” Came his fragile answer. 

His eyes met Ghost’s as if they haven’t once connected looks in their lives together. He leaned on scratching the wolf’s ears with a thoughtful glance, trying to figuring out what in the world was wrong with him. Did he really have the ability to get inside the animal’s mind? He wondered if this chain of events wasn’t something deliberate. Facing this particular side of him he never knew he had in the first place happened just about the same time their first encounter with this blue eyed corpse. 

“Sometimes I wonder in which side of the Wall are we safer.” confessed Sam after a silence. “I mean, the Wall has never fallen before but now I’m not so…”

“It won’t fall, Sam. I promise.” 

“It’s not supposed to fall… but it will eventually. We were not supposed to confront our dead brothers either, yet they came back and attacked us. Wildings will rise too on the north side, that’s what all kept saying… and if that’s not enough, the south side is being assaulted by a cold blooded mercenary who likes to spend his great deal of time knocking cold our guards. Jeren and Albett were the ones, this time.”

“What?” Jon looked at him, curiously. “I never heard of him. Who is he anyway?”

“Nobody knows. They all call him Sundance. He’s… very fast. He approaches the south gate of the Castle during the night patrols, and engaged himself in fights. I mean, sometimes it’s three to one, depending on who’s on duty but they always get beaten up and that’s why nobody ever catch him.”

“You’re telling me he doesn’t ask for anything else? And leaves our men alive after?”

“Yes. You should hear the way they talked about him. The strangest thing is that he doesn’t really hurt them, just some harmless bruises. Jeren and Albett are only with a contusion each, and they’ll probably make a full recovery in a few days.”

“Jeren and Albett are good. It will take a lot for a single person to just disarm two brothers of the Night’s Watch that easily.” said Jon, thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Though, he is a real danger to all of us. We don’t know what he wants, or who he really is. Some say he’s an old recruit expelled from the Order, others says he’s a wilding.”

“Well, we’ll deal with him eventually. Doesn’t make much of a threat if he acts alone, does he?”

“Jon, no one wants to patrol that gate anymore.” Sam revealed, shivering. “They’re too afraid. We could end up like Lord Commander Mormont if you hadn’t arrived to kill Othor two nights ago.”

“That’s stupid. You can’t be afraid of just one man.” stated Jon, astonished. They were men of the Night’s Watch, being thrown to the floor a thousand times was just part of what they were and the very least of it. He was now starting to think Lord Commander was right when he admitted it to be an army of sullen boys and tired old men.

“He isn’t just one man. He’s… really good.”

“As good as any can be.” 

The next day, Lord Commander had summoned him to his quarters. Jon had no idea why the Old Bear hadn’t told him anything about Sundance, yet he suspected it had something to do with the part he played in preventing his assassination. All he could tell at the time was that Lord Commander didn’t look happy, the face of man who can only watch as his own creation turns against him. He presented Jon with a sword, Valyrian steel all in Jon’s hands. His eyes drank the length cautiously knowing that from now on they’ll be partners for a while, still that thought brought awkwardness in his head. He had made his vows and this sword was supposed to protect a man of the Night’s Watch but oddly as it sounded that didn’t seem right to him.

“It was meant to my son but he brought dishonor to our house.”

And Jon was supposed to have the honor Mormont’s son lacked? He above all people? His revelation with Allister Thorne was at that point self explanatory of his own insecurities concerning the Night’s Watch. His eyes darkened, understanding that he couldn’t keep it yet when he introduced it to his friends they were all over him, by the looks none of them had ever seen anything like it. 

“How are Jeren and Albett?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“They are better.” responded Grenn, who was near him. “Let me look at it again, please…”

Jon sighed again and handed Longclaw to him. He and Pyp disappeared sharing their excitement over it in a way nothing close to the grown men they were. As he stayed behind, he noticed Sam’s sulkiness and recent aversion of talking.

“What is it?” He sat next to him. 

“I… I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Sam was down-faced and sounded like a wounded sheep.

“Well… The truth is… I shouldn’t tell you… I mustn’t tell you.” He kept chanting. “I’m really not supposed to say…”

“And yet you really want to say...” tried Jon. “You want to say that…”

“There was a raven. I read the message to Maester Aemon.” His eyes searched for Jon’s despairingly. “It’s your brother Robb…”

“What?” Color was drained from him as the world suddenly stopped, leaving a comatose absence in his face. Even, Ghost freaked out and tilted anxiously his head at his master.

“He’s… He’s heading south…” Sam muttered, pleading for anyone to suddenly turn him mute. “…to war.”

Robb is going to war. It was impossible. His brother was too young. Even if he had always believed in him, willing to let death alone strike him first if he ever doubt Robb, this was something surpassing every inch of everything they’d ever known and he couldn’t let his brother faces this alone. Whenever he used to think of their lives ten years from now, Robb was always ruling the north in the welfare of Winterfell as it was stated in the history of their ancestors but if he did leave now ten years were an idealization for war was never that merciful, pawns were crushed to the bones by the end of the day and he knew even worst things awaited those who masterminds and machinations of war craved the most for, his brother.

Sam mumbled something about Robb being well-guarded by his banner men but he just couldn’t pay attention anymore. Even if Grey Wind and all his siblings’ direwolves were to protect him in the battlefield along with a thousand more, Jon would never stop worrying about him especially if he stayed behind in the Night’s Watch while the fight was already beginning.

“I should be with him…” His heart thumped erratically. Suddenly he felt like a stranger in this place, ten times worse than his first day.

“Jon, you can’t…”

“I should be with him…” he repeated louder. 

His frown dove into Ghost’s eyes, like asking what to do but discovered he didn’t need his reassurance. If a part of him was locked inside his friend then the same was applied to this existence granted to him and both came in unison with a bolt of truth. He couldn’t look away from this and Ghost knew that too.

The sword lying in his bed was the only goodbye he could articulate to the days spent in the Wall. Outside, black feathers had been plaguing windows as more ravens continued to arrive nonstop, and even for someone poorly instructed in old sayings like him, it was mutual for him and all the lingering shadows residing among the night to coincide in one true prophecy, coming alive in his eyes. Dark wings, dark words. Jon tried very hard no to think of it and the recent news concerning his brother but he was failing miserably, and it ignited his motion further into leaving everything behind. 

The reflection of candlelight was languishing in the steel of Longclaw, enduring as far as it could but close enough to its quitting time just like his father’s life in King’s Landing. They could’ve done anything with him. Locked him up in a dungeon with several days of hunger and thirst to put only minutes between him and his demise from this world. Maybe he was already dead. But his life could not be terminated that way, not if he had something to say about it. He was still Eddard Stark’s child and his vows were first made to his family, to his father, brothers and sisters. He wondered if this sword had been used to protect its previous owner’s loved ones, and it could somehow relate to the pain he was feeling now. What kind of blood would it tend to protect the most? The blood of a man who stood behind while his family was being slaughtered or the blood of a man who fought for them no matter what?

That question remained unanswered.

Ghost was already racing toward the door when the screams broke in the night. Jon got up as fast as he could, taking the sword from the bed and blowing the candles out as he exited.

“It’s him!”

“Sundance!”

Yells rose up among the icy battlements as he did his way down and Ghost viciously running ahead of him. He wasn’t a stranger to his direwolf’s behavior, right now it was slipping into his skin just like when Othor had stabbed icy blue radiance into his eyes and he claimed a force he didn’t know he had to make it through the vacant yards in record time. Both he and Ghost stood outside the front gate together and suddenly the woods unleashed this cold air which felt like strings in his throat.

His eyes were blinded by a midst of darkness among the trees but he could effortlessly spot his brothers down on the cold floor. Rast was on his feet, a sword pointing in the direction of a cloaked shaped figure. His black hood was cascading with little puffs of white emerging underneath into the freezing night, though his sword catch the moonlight and shone with silver all the way into Jon’s eyes.

He froze for a second, as everything collided with his senses.

“Snow, don’t move.” said Rast with a smirk. “This cunt is mine.”

“Stop, Rast! He doesn’t wanna fight.” yelled one of the men of the Night’s Watch, laying on the ground but apparently unharmed. “Just give him what he wants and he’ll leave us alone.”

“He attacked us and he’s gonna pay for it.”

The strike was delivered with dust and dirt flying everywhere but Rast found his sword distortedly nailed in a low tree, just where his opponent had been standing not too long ago. He growled menacing as his right arm made a circling move and his sword traced an arc but the cloaked man had ten times the reflexes and he swept aside and mingled the man of the Night’s Watch easily.

Jon had his eyes wide open. He had once or twice in his life seen someone fighting this good and he knew all along it wasn’t apprentice’s swordplay. He watched in silence, even the snow seemed fairly untouched as the cloaked stranger didn’t even step on it. But something was familiar about him and he felt it in his bones, the wind was respecting him in a way Jon had seen when he was younger with someone else, the same way it respected him too. He was so lost into the fighting he didn’t even noticed Sam, Grenn and Pyp rushing to his side.

“It’s Sundance!” Sam’s girly scream startled him. Grenn and Pyp were about to interfere when Jon’s arm stopped them in their tracks.

“What are you doing?” said Grenn, harshly. “He’s going to kill him.”

“Look again.” answered Jon. Everyone did so. “He’s not going to kill Rast. He’s playing with him.”

The fight was already over and it hadn’t even started. Rast was already worn out as he charged for the last time, but the enemy broke his hammering posture fixing his two wrists like a cross and caging the blade, the pommel of his own sword connected with the jaw of the other man and a sideswing sent him over to his own defeat.

“Guys, look!” Sam pointed to a hollow corner a few feet away from the two men. A body laid facedown in the snow frozen and undisturbed, for what it seemed like several days after his death. 

“He killed him?” asked Pyp. 

“No, we did!” Rast yelled, trying to get on his feet. “This asshole thinks he just can steel him from us.”

“Why did you kill him?” Jon was eying the corpse warily. 

“Because he attacked us first, bastard. That’s why.”

“This man doesn’t want to hurt us.” Halder told the others as he raised and came closer, holding his arm. “He just wants the dead man. But Rast…”

“Well, the dead man is dead because of us. So he can get the hell out of here, did you hear me?” Rast wielded his sword again but the hooded man knocked it from him with a slash to his wrist. “Ah! You broke my wrist!”

That movement. Jon had seen it before. Now he was sure, he even did that to Grenn the first day of training.

“You’re gonna die for this.”

“Rast! Look!” 

Halder’s scream made everyone turned their heads abruptly to the side but no one ever expected to be alive to contemplate anything like that. Jon himself felt a cold hand climbing up his spine when he stared at the dead white face on the ground, only his eyes sprung wide open and suddenly a jet of blue was cast on them.


	2. Chapter Two

“Rast! Look!” 

Halder’s scream made everyone turned their heads abruptly to the side but no one ever expected to be alive to contemplate anything like that. Jon himself felt a cold hand climbing up his spine when he stared at the dead white face on the ground, only his eyes sprung wide open and suddenly a jet of blue was cast on them.

He had no idea how long they stood framed shoulder to shoulder trying helplessly to decode what was happening before their eyes and the notion of it seemed to slap them in their faces. The sight was as despairing as Jon remembered it to be, the skeleton rose up and he was drowned into the same bottomless blue holes once again. Sam was instantly shrieking, voicing as much as he could before collapsing into Jon’s back and Grenn and Pyp were two petrified towers in his flanks.

“What the fuck…” Grenn muttered, never taking his eyes from it.

“This isn’t happening… Please, this isn’t happening…” Sam chanted frantically with his head buried into fur. 

The night seemed to fall with a veil of darkness and all light they knew was swept away. The vacant ominous face of death met them, enough to take them to their knees so they would know nothing could possibly save them from it, no matter how loud they screamed for their lives and a promise was sent to the rustling wind of feasting on them. Jon saw it the first time and now he was again breathing under the same sky with one of them, only this time he had no clue if they will make it alive. Ironically, his hand wasn’t even healed to fight again. Fire, he thought but they were far enough from a burning source and weren’t taking risks of dying to get to the Castle.

“He’s… He’s coming for us…” He heard Pyp whispering to his side.

A finger bone was raised to them and the dead man was suddenly on Rast, who raised his sword in time to repel it. Though, his body was hit with fear and shock first and was easily overcome by a grip on his backhead, only to be thrown away like he was candle wax. Sam slipped a hysterical cry when the shadow of the corpse was again charging toward him but steel narrowed his way.

The hooded man stood between him and Rast and in a fraction of seconds his sword received a slam from stone weight on him. He barely broke free to connect his elbow knocking off nose and skull and sank into the floor, just before someone could do anything Ghost jumped over him and landed on the frozen chest. 

“Ghost!” Jon took Longclaw with his left hand and followed his direwolf.

“Jon! He’s going to kill you!”

His left hand was a problem but he managed to assist Ghost, the same way he did with Othor. Although, he knew very well steel could not stop it, not even Ghost’s teeth which now were tearing apart everything he could find. He shielded his right arm with his body after two attempts to bury his sword in the wight’s shoulder and the last one weakened blue tissues, enough to be severed but he was overly close and suddenly his burnt hand was half smash. White flashed inside his eyes, he knew his defense was lost when Ghost disappeared under an iron grip and he spun in pain to ready the blackness above him to take him.

But his ears were filled with Grenn’s scream instead. He forced himself to look only to find his brother down like him, with a dead hand closing around his throat and Pyp and Halder trying helplessly to shove it away. Sam was as far as he could, sunk in a catatonic state and clutching to his knees.

“Sam! We need fire!” he ordered him. “Get inside the Castle and find something to kill it!”

“I… can’t… move.” Sam wept. “He’s… He’s going to kill us.” 

“Sam! Do it now!”

“I… can’t…”

Jon cursed him, they were all going to die because of him. He used his sword as a cane and stood up, mentally kicking himself for not being recovered so he could be on his fullest. He knew their only way out of this was to do it himself but he was anxious to turn away like that. None of them were ready to face the creature and if they’re going to make this work he needed a diversion for it.

“Go…” He heard numbly. 

Sundance was dueling with the armless corpse in his place and took a moment to look at him, even in his faceless hood Jon could see he was following his trail of thought. 

“I’ll distract him.”

Jon nodded and left running. His friends’ scream were almost faint when he crossed the Castle’s gates, his eyes were suddenly packed with dim fire from hanging torches and he grabbed one making his way out immediately. The fire gave him a better view and he felt spikes in his skin as Grenn’s neck was almost broken, just a few feet away the frozen undead man was like a siege engine overcoming the only sword which came in his way and Sam, Pyp and Halder couldn’t find their legs to do something other than hope for all to end. 

“Ghost!” Jon called out and the animal met his eyes weakly. The wound in his white fur oozed red blood and that was as far as he could go, but Jon knew they didn’t have any other way out. 

He closed his eyes and his mind slipped inside the wolf. He felt himself dealing with lack of energy but he imprinted everything left of him to his articulations and gravity began to work again so he leapt and the blue hand was in his fangs. He tossed it away and the wolf’s mind released him soon enough.

“Move!” He warned and Sundance kicked the remains of the corpse, which was caught up on fire. 

Flames rose up like snakes as their faces welcomed the heat but no one dared to move, everything had been too much to handle for them. Their unsteady breaths told them it was over and they were still alive but it was hard to believe, especially for Sam and the rest of the Night’s Watch.

“Is it dead?” Sam asked.

“Yeah…” Jon confirmed and looked at them. “Grenn, are you alright?”

“Yeah…” he answered with difficulty.

“I… I can’t believe it… You saw it...” Pyp couldn’t find his voice to talk. “It was… a white walker.”

“We have to take Grenn with Maester Aemon to take care of his wounds.” Jon told them.

“So it was true. They do exist…” Halder spoke, eyeing the hooded man who stood before them. “And you knew what it was…”

Jon watched him carefully. The orange flames still couldn’t quite reveal his face, but his body was like his and he looked drained from the fight.

“You saved us.” Sam’s voice was filled with admiration. “But we don’t know who you are…”

“Why did you help us?” Pyp said, accusingly. “You hurt Rast… and many of our brothers as well.”

“I am sorry for that.” He told them, apologetically.

Jon’s eyes widened when Ghost padded curiously to him and to everyone’s disbelief he nipped at his fingers, so he fondly received a welcoming pat in his back. His direwolf had never been like this with anyone at the Night’s Watch but him, so when the hood fell off from the man’s shoulders he was strongly aware that everything had leaded to this. Yet that didn’t stop his jaw from almost dropping at it, defenseless against those familiar pale blue eyes. 

Before him, Robb smiled. It took him forever to realize he hadn’t been killed by the white walker, that his brother was as real and absorbing as the Wall itself and that he was miles away from where he was supposed to be, just like him. No one said anything but perplexed eyes were instantly on Robb, like he was Rhaegar Targaryen himself, and Jon assumed Sam and the others had expected an old man like Thorne or anyone skilled and aged enough from the Night’s Watch, even unpleasant to see. 

“Hey Jon…” He said with modesty, his hand still rubbing Ghost’s head. 

“You know him?” Sam asked concernedly.

“He’s… He’s my brother.” Jon replied, his eyes never leaving Robb’s. They all turned their heads to him demandingly but Sam was first to talk again. 

“Your brother?” He looked at Robb analytically, but suddenly gasped like something had gone wrong. “Oh my god… You can walk!”

“He’s not Bran.” Jon said before Sam could actually hug him. 

“Oh… Sorry. Yeah… I should’ve known that.”

“What in the seven hells does this mean?” Rast snapped. “You’re the bastard’s brother? So, you two like beating the hell out of people in your free time?”

“I told you it was never my intention.” Robb admitted, honestly. “I’m sorry it had to be that way but you left me no choice. I needed to get rid of the body before something like this could happen.”

“Well… We surely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.” Pyp added.

“Robb…” Jon spoke at last, his stare intensely meeting his brother’s. “Why are you here? Why did you leave Winterfell?”

Robb’s eyes dropped to the floor with guilt.

“There’s something you need to know.” He stated. 

Later that night Jon was in his room again, battling the icy hours with a fireplace before him. The silence had escalated those walls uninterruptedly for what it seemed like a very long time yet it had only been hours since what happened down in the open. He had been trying to conciliate the events he had experienced today in his mind, but sometimes it looked rather than some joke someone had played on him. The white walker’s apparition at the very gates of the Castle, the fierce fight which at some point he believed they were going to loose and finally his brother Robb sudden intervention, he did save their lives but that didn’t narrow things down at all. Why was he hiding his identity from them? How did he know about the white walker and how to stop it? Why couldn’t he tell them about it instead of just attacking them in the first place? And why did he come to The Wall?

Finally he heard the door open and his black eyes met with his brother’s again. Robb walked inside with the same look he had back then, though Jon could also see the weariness behind it. 

“Are you done with Mormont?” Jon asked, as Robb came closer and took the place beside him. 

“Yeah… Only by the end of it there was no calming him down. Those white walkers will appreciate all the love he sent them though.” He laughed. 

Jon involuntarily smiled. Even after all Robb had been through he still was trying to cheer him up, just like when they were little kids.

“Why isn’t Grey Wind with you?”

“I sent him to the East Watch, to help Cotter Pyke and his men. He should be returning by now…”

“That’s nice of you.” He said bluntly, with a hint of sarcasm.

“Jon… what’s wrong?” Robb looked at him confusedly. 

“What made you think they were in any more danger than you?” Jon spat, furiously. “You were all alone and the first thing that came to your mind is dismiss the only chance of preserving your life.” 

“You know it’s… scary the way you’re starting to sound like my mother.”

“I’m not kidding, Robb. Tell me… what in the seven hells were you thinking? Are you honestly so eager to get yourself killed?”

“I can’t tell you why I did it… I just knew I had to.” He explained, avoiding his eyes.

“You had to?” Jon questioned. “Is that the reason why you left Winterfell? Because you had to?”

“Yes. I… Well, I guess there’s no point in hiding it from you. You probably know by now Father has been imprisoned in King’s Landing. What you don’t know is that my mother left Winterfell and she’s in the Eyrie right now…”

“What? Why would she leave Bran and Rickon behind? Especially after Bran’s accident…”

“Jon… Bran has been attacked. He’s fine now because Summer reached him in time and took care of his attacker, but we suspect this man was sent by the Lannisters to kill our brother.”

Jon was speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing and strongly regretted not stabbing his sword in Jamie Lannister’s throat when they crossed words in the training yard. 

“But that’s not all.” Robb continued, but his low tone was enough to know he didn’t want to go on. “I… Summer didn’t kill the man and Theon told me I should locked him in the dungeons for later interrogation. We still don’t know how it happened but he escaped. Grey Wind followed his scent and we learned he had switched his destination… he wasn’t heading to King’s Landing but to the north instead.”

“You followed him…” Jon guessed.

“Yes but something happened when I found him… he was dead. There were a few men of the Night’s Watch on their way out of the Castle, talking about how they had killed him. But I knew something was wrong and Grey Wind did too. I tried to warn them, but they didn’t listen to me and well…”

“So, that’s how you became Sundance…” His voice came with a chuckle and Robb smiled weakly. “It suits you…”

“I honestly didn’t want to hurt them. I apologized to the Lord Commander for the trouble but he seemed rather pissed at his men instead.”

“I guess no one can be pissed at you.” Jon smiled sweetly at him.

“Not even you?”

“Not even me.” 

Robb closed his eyes and for a moment the shade of his burden corrupted his fractions, making him a lot older than he really was. Jon still couldn’t see how right he was and Robb was glad for that, otherwise if he knew for a moment the truth he would probably not leave his side ever again.

“I wish you were.” He whispered. “That’d make things a lot easier for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, right? I’m leaving… to war.”

Jon’s look hardener unconsciously, clenching his fists at his sides at the statement. He knew better than anybody, yet he wished this moment would never have to come between them.

“I’ll go with you…”

“No…” Robb turned his head. “You have to stay here.”

“You can’t ask that of me, Robb. I can’t… We need to go to this war together.” 

“I really wish we could, but I’ll never be able to look at myself again if I don’t stop you now.” He confessed, without looking at Jon.

“And do you think I’ll be able to look at myself if I let you go?” came his desperate answer. “We promised when we were young to fight by each other side no matter what happens. It has always been like that, remember?”

“It’s not like that anymore...” Robb said vacantly, dueling with himself. “Everything was much easier back then, now I all want is for this war to stop taking my sisters and brothers away. First Bran and now Arya and Sansa. I need to know you are safe…” 

His brother’s pain was as clear as those sleepless nights at Winterfell he remembered so well. His eyes were distorted with grief and fear for he knew this was the only time he could bring himself to be afraid. When the long spears clash in the battlefield and the columns of war claim for him, Robb’s old life would be ended forever and the only thought of it was enough for Jon. He wished he’d never had to see his brother like that in his life but they will never be as real to each other as they are right now.

“You are so stubborn, Stark…” he smiled softly, taking Robb’s face in his hands. “Don’t you see it’s not me the one who needs to be safe? I know you better than anyone and I won’t stay here while you happily throw yourself to an early grave. I know you are Lord of Winterfell now, but if there is one command you can’t make is this one…”

“I’m not asking you this as Lord of Winterfell.” He retorted, their foreheads almost touching. “I’m asking you as your brother. Please Jon, promise me you won’t try and leave…” 

Jon opened his mouth to say something but a scream from below broke them apart instantly. Both made their way out of the room, Robb closely following Jon behind, and when they reached the training yard together the image before them shook them abruptly. Rast and some men of the Night’s Watch were cycling a bleeding Sam who had fallen cold to the floor with a handful of practice swords awfully close to his face.

“Please! I said I was sorry!” The fat boy pleaded. “I wanted to help but I couldn’t move… The white walker…”

“We all saw it! But we could’ve died because of you.” One of them shouted. “You did nothing when he attacked us.”

“May be we should have let it take you, coward…”

“That’s enough.” Jon said, standing beside his friend. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“He’s a coward, Jon. He only stared and cried like a little girl when you and your brother fought against it. You should stop protecting him so much, he’s not worth it…”

“Maybe we should finish what the white walker started, don’t you think?”

Rast and some of the other black brothers took a step forward with their swords first but at the last moment a sudden growl reached them. A huge wolf with molten gold eyes emerged from the shadows and his size twice bigger than Ghost paralyzed each and one of them, who went rigid. The beast lurked toward them showing his fangs menacingly and when the essence of fear was installed in everyone’s heavy chests a terrifying snarl drove them all away screaming, leaving only Robb, Jon and Sam in the now empty yard.

“What’s wrong?” Robb looked at his direwolf. Grey Wind howled trying to tell him something and left running to the front gate.

“Robb…” Jon grabbed his arm before he could follow him. 

“I have to go.”

“What?”

“Jon, please… Help me.” Sam cried behind them, his face covered in blood, but for the first time in his life Jon ignored him. He couldn’t think of anything else right now.

“You need to take care of his wounds.” Robb warned with a strained voice, trying to break free. “Jon, I have to go now.”

The desperation in Jon’s eyes didn’t last much longer when a shadow overtook his fractions and he felt his throat closing up. He knew now time wasn’t having any consideration for him and he held back the urge to rant out of frustration and rage, so when every little thing told him he had to do what was right, his hand weakened and Robb’s fingers slipped trough his own. All he did was watch his brother running away from him, knowing he probably wouldn’t see him again.


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.  
____________________________________

 

"Are you still mad?"

The evening meal had started earlier that day, much to his disappointment. Jon had never thought there'd be a time at the Night's Watch where he'd learn to appreciate his duties at the icy footpaths atop the Wall even more than the company of people itself, yet lately he had found himself clutching almost obsessively to those hours of the day. They meant the world to him, at least now he had the certainty that this barrier he had been inclined to built between him and his friends was not going anywhere. Not like his uncle Benjen or Robb for that matter. But sadly, he knew he couldn't stay there for the rest of his life. So, almost like a ritual which never ends he sat again at the common hall. It wasn't strange to have Sam glued to his side the moment the meals where served at the table for the fat boy had been doing the exact same thing since what happened, hoping every time that Jon's answer would sign peace between them.

But each time, he received nothing but silence.

"Look… I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to stop you from going after him." Sam continued, miserably.

Jon sighed soundly. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this upset with him but knew deep inside he couldn't blame Sam. His friend wanted nothing to do with the Wall since he first arrived and everything was a vivid proof of that, so what happened with Rast and the others was only a matter of time. Yet, he wished for a moment he wasn't so dependant of him because nothing would bring back the opportunity he had lost.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" Sam asked Pyp, who was next to him at the table.

"He won't if you keep asking the same every two seconds." He replied.

"I'm not mad, Sam." Jon finally spoke, truthfully. "It wasn't your fault anyway."

"I didn't ask for anything that happened that day." He shivered, recalling the white walker's attack. "I can't imagine something worse."

"Seriously? You know we are going Beyond the Wall, right?" Grenn warned and Jon immediately turned his eyes to him.

"Beyond the Wall? Lord Commander gave the order?"

"Yes, Jon. I'm surprised he didn't tell you, you are his steward after all."

"Also, his nightmare when Craster's daughters/wives see him." Pyp remarked. "They surely will flip and run away with him and his gallant sword."

"You're just jealous because you're not going."

"So, you're all leaving to Craster's Keep any day from now and I'm supposed to find out about it when Sam kills his first White Walker and sends his bloody legs to fill me in?" Jon began angrily.

"I don't know why you're so upset." Sam gave him a nervous look from the other side, clearly struck by his energetic tone of voice. "You were thinking about turning your back on the Night's Watch to go after Robb."

"BUT I DIDN'T!" He finally lost it, raising his voice as much as he could. "I stayed because it was the right thing to do! I'm here just as much as all of you! And now I'm forced to be left behind, after all I have done and lost for this place."

"Maybe you're in charge of Castle Black while Mormont is not here." Sam tried, hopefully. "Come on Jon. This Craster guy is not the easiest person to deal with and Lord Commander wouldn't want more problems with him than he already has. Besides, you're needed here. You saved us from a White Walker twice so you're clearly the best option to defend The Wall if it happens again."

"Sam is right. Mormont is not stupid, you know? There's too much at stake if your presence there by any chance disturbs this Wilding. Who knows what's going to happen."

"If I'm not fit to deal with a Wilding… then I'm not meant to be in The Night's Watch." He concluded heavily.

"You're leaving so soon, Snow?" Rast mocked from behind, hearing the conversation. "That's too bad. Maybe you should consider staying, after all your father and brother will be joining us too."

All laughs died out when Jon suddenly stood up and left the common hall without a word.

________________________________________

It was already after dark. His eyes were glued to the ceiling of his sleeping cell, for what it seemed like an eternity. He could still hear laughs and cheers from outside like every night around this hour, and just like usual he studied how the wooden floors creaked under footsteps and drunken voices, almost long enough to know what was going on. It seemed everyone here would spend the hours left to the sunrise in Mole Town again. None of them seemed to remember what happened a few days ago, clearly there were more important things to worry about, like girls and brothels. He turned his head and laid his eyes on the spot where usually Ghost slept in, only this time the direwolf wasn't there. Jon was starting to worry because he couldn't remember when he had last seen him, probably two or three days from now. The dark sky was cloaking the upper arc of the window like a call to a hunting night and the message came to him naturally, with a hint of jealousy he knew Ghost was probably enjoying himself out there.

He still ignored how it happened actually, if it had been a second, a minute or a year maybe but suddenly his senses were assailed by everything and nothing at the same time. He was no longer in his sleeping cell instead he felt contact with slick mud, this time the same dark sky was above him engulfing the beginning and end of his way, as the weariness claimed his body from previous running. But nevertheless, he was unafraid. Even if he tried to deny it, his animal instinct was urging him to go forward into the woods, where the scent he had intended to track earlier was culminating. Everything became a silent invitation for him. The scent was guiding him blindly through crusts of snow and low breeches like fire casting the shadows away. He had never felt so attracted to a hunt before so he gave his life to it, quietly letting the wolf take over and driving the last drops of the man he was away. Finally, he heard whispers breaking the silence and felt his vital signs more alive than ever when the scent pulled him vividly one last time.

"You're still mad about it, aren't you? Just try not to sulk too much when we are here, Grey Wind. If we get in trouble I'll blame it all on you."

The voice hit him and he made his way through the trees, approaching with a vigilant pace until he reached a clearing. The first thing he saw was Robb's auburn curls before a fire and Grey Wind was there too coiling up against him, just a few feet away from where he was.

"I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but I had to do it." He heard Robb telling the direwolf but he sounded tense and filled with regret.

Grey Wind did a disappointed grunt and Robb diverted his eyes from the fire.

"But you're right. I should've told him everything." He muttered, barely. "I should've told him about the sword and about… this. Even though, I don't know if he'll believe me."

"Tell me about what?" Jon wanted to ask.

"Well it doesn't matter now, right? When the time comes he will find out on his own, just like I did. I just hope it's not too late for that."

A rush of adrenaline suffocated him and he fought the urge to run out of his hiding place and reveal himself but he couldn't. Even if every part of his body was pulling him onward to his brother and in a way releasing him from that last day when they had separated at the training yard, he couldn't find his strength to move.

"We better get going." Robb warned, already on his feet. "The sun is rising and we are supposed to meet with Lord Umber's party from the Last Hearth."

"Wait!" he screamed in his mind but Robb couldn't hear him.

"Jon! Jon! Wake up!"

His eyes opened widely. Sam's face was over him, discerning completely with everything he had just seen, but his concern was convincing enough for Jon to understand he was back in his human form and in his room at Castle Black.

"Lord Commander is asking for you." He told him briefly. "Were you having those dreams again?"

Jon only stared at him absentmindedly, still resenting being pulled out of his other existence. This time everything had felt so real that now he could hardly trust the four walls closing over him, the softness of the bed or even his friend's nervous tone but he tried his best to remain neutral while drifting some ringlets of hair away from his damp face. He was aware now it wasn't a dream at all, he was creating these stages of life along with Ghost as only one being and just like before, antagonize it wasn't something he could do when coming this far. All this had a purpose, he was certain of it, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was yet.

But as much pleased as he was with this connection, still there was something bothering him. Robb's words were echoing inside his head with every step he made as he headed to the King's Tower, taking Longclaw with him. What did he mean with telling him everything? What exactly did he have to find out on his own? A slight memory captured his eyes, taking him back to the day when he confronted Robb about sending Grey Wind to the East Watch and he stopped at once. Could Robb do the same with Grey Wind? This was the thing he wanted to confess to him?

"You wanted to see me, my Lord?" he greeted Lord Commander Mormont as he opened the door and slid inside the chambers.

"I'm glad you're carrying the sword with you, Snow." He glared at him from his window seat. "Seat down. There's something I need to tell you."

Jon obligated, still unaware of what was it. The Old Bear faced him and he could tell how many sleepless nights his old eyes concealed, as if something was keeping him awake more time than he would've liked.

"I take it your brother hasn't mentioned anything of what we discussed last time he was here, right?"

"He didn't." Jon answered, with a hint of resentment.

"Well, don't be upset. I didn't want him to tell you because I didn't agree with him, but now… Well, he wasn't so mistaken, after all. He told me how you killed the white walker, with fire just like Othor but even if we didn't suffer any losses thanks to that I cannot say it's something that comforts me. We don't know what's out there beyond The Wall or if these dead creatures will attack again and we can't rely on fire when the times comes. We have to think of something else to fight them…"

Jon watched him carefully, his eyes matching the flames of the hearth.

"Lord Stark told me how the white walker weakened after you stabbed him with your sword." Mormont concluded, with a heavy voice. "I sent a raven to our friends at the Shadow Tower, to Quorin Halfhand, and they also confirmed this to me. Only Valyrian steel is effective on them and we need to use this if we intend to win this war."

He stood up and walked to the fire, with a watchful expression.

"But Valyrian swords are…"

"You have one." He prompted. "But most of them are lost and no men have ever seen one in at least a hundred years. However, Longclaw is not the only Valyrian sword we know of. It has a sister which is currently in King's Landing under the possession of the King himself."

"Ice." Jon thought instantly. "So, that's what Robb meant when he mentioned a sword."

"The sword is my father's. And if he is under arrest in King's Landing then…"

"I know but there is no other choice for us. We need this sword and we only receive empty words from King's Landing." He declared. "I don't intent to come between Lord Eddard and his judgment, as I said before the Night's Watch takes no part in what happens at the Seven Kingdoms, but the King must assist us with proper weaponry for his own good and this is something we can't leave unattended."

At this point, Jon couldn't think of a time when he had agreed more with the Old Bear but he remained quiet.

"We are not safe here. The Long Night is coming and dead creatures with it. It's time for us to stand but I don't plan to send my people to die if I can't give them something to protect themselves with. Longclaw and Ice are northern swords, built to protect northern people… and built to be wielded by Eddard Stark's boys. You and your brother saved us from white walkers, that's something I won't easily forget and I've seen enough in my life to refuse to see what's in front of me now."

"I don't understand. I'm a brother of the Night's Watch. I did my vows…"

"You did your vows, Snow… but you were in your direwolf's skin when your body kneeled." Mormont smiled and Jon suddenly went pale. "You thought you could hide that from me much longer? I know what you are… you are a warg and that's an uncommon gift, but as I said before I've seen enough in my life and I know this only means I have something or someone to place my faith in. It is said that the Old Gods walked with the Stark's through your direwolves and now I'm finally privileged enough to see it after so long."

"Robb is a warg too?" He asked, still distrustful.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" The Old Bear conceded and he blinked.

"So this means…"

"I want you to go with him to King's Landing, Jon Snow… and bring the sword here." Mormont's eyes pierced trough him and his solemn voice finally gave him what he wanted to hear for so long. "I want to see one last time… if wolves run faster than lions. Would you do that for me?"

Jon smiled and his hand unconsciously clutched the pommel of his sword in anticipation. This is what he was waiting for all of his life.

"Yes, Lord Commander."


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.

_______________________________________

"You again..."

He stopped, after a straightforward ride of almost half a day. The cold wind had been descending upon the road from the shoulders of the far snowcapped mountains like an invisible hand roughly architecting trees and snow corridors as it pleased but all the same his eyes found with no effort the same ancient oak he had swept past a few nights ago, of course in Ghost's form. He was close. The southlands navigated before him after several days of his departure from the Night's Watch, coming alive once again with foundations of water creeks, faint echoes of birds and wolves in the distance, and a carpet of permeable ground stretching across the hooves. The ghostly sheen of the moon was falling silently on every wanderer sword which happened to be part of this night, a friendly favor for hunters awaiting for its preys in the heart of darkness but a memory for him awakening again with every step he made away from the North.

After all this time, his homeland was there again. He knew when he took his horse a few steps from the road into the riverbanks and he watched over his shoulders, where The Wall was nowhere near in his range of sight. From his previous scout's duties, which provided to be error proofed thanks to the wolf's hypersensitive senses, he was only two days from Winter Town and the journey was almost to its end.

Looking back, he thought this day would never come. Even when explaining everything to Sam and the others, he had feared it was just a dream in his head but the words had rung inside his ears with life of its own, almost like this day was marked in his life before he had ever thought about joining the Night's Watch. Sam and his friends still couldn't believe it when he finished, but after a while Jon knew they were all feeling relief. Ice was their last hope to fight and end the Long Night, and he was the one to get it back from Lannisters' hands. Or at least, help Robb to do it. Lord Commander later revealed to him everything he had discussed with Robb, and so he learned Robb did want him by his side but at the same time, he feared his own personal desires would turn into obstacles for Jon's wellness. "The decision has to be his only. And yours, of course. I understand he pledged his life to the Night's Watch and I'm not taking that away from him. I only felt it was my duty to tell you about Ice." He had said. After that, Mormont was convinced this Valyrian Sword was the last and only recruit they ever needed. And he now felt the same way.  
Free his father from the Lannisters and retake the sword from King's Landing. That was all he could think of right now. He knew he had to reach Robb as fast as he could, of course in this body at least.

Since his departure from Castle Black he had warged into Ghost (who was following Robb and Grey Wind closely) as much as he could so everything he was seeing now had been picked up first by the wolf's eyes. Every bush, every soldier pine, every stone and outlying village. He even dared to ride at night, resting only the necessary, because the road was already cleared for him. His boot removed some patches of white from the root and ash was revealed before him, just where his brother had lit the last fire before reaching Winterfell. He could easily spot thousands of footprints, just as much as waves crashing in the rapids, and he thanked Lord Umber had been generous enough to supply this many of riders and knights. Yet he feared most of them had seen Robb as just a boy, not a man and certainly not their lord. He had been there when Lord Umber and his son came forward to pay their respects, but his wolf hearing didn't miss Smalljon's smirk after a cold shake of hands.

"Do you think we allow this many of wolves in our lands, Stark?" He said, part joke part serious.

"These are my lands too, Umber." Robb replied, calmly. "And you better get used to them since there will be more, I may add."

"There will be more" That last phrase was a direct message to him. Robb wasn't only speaking of Grey Wind kind, just as everybody had thought. There were wolves, true wolves, which didn't necessarily like the taste of sheep, which ran using sometimes two legs or sometimes four, and most important the ones which now to his eyes were far more numerous than he had first imagined. Just as always, Robb's true words were always the ones left to be said at all, but he was satisfied with it. How couldn't he when he was seeing Grey Wind's agitation while Robb was in a glaring contest with the heir of the Last Hearth? It was the obvious thing. He only prayed that this wolf/man bond living inside of them could be as high and enduring as this ancient oak, for they will surely need it when the battle begins.

"Maybe we should hurry up a bit, don't you think?" He asked his horse, taking the reins.

Winterfell's doors were already waiting for him and Ghost too. He swung up into the saddle, flicked the reins and then he was galloping through miles of green, with his eyes attached to the faint lines of the column ahead.

Soon, the sun will find him again but this time like a draft of black wind, not white.

________________________________________

"You are a Stark… You may not have my name, but you have my blood…"

"Does my mother know about me? Where I'm going? Does she care?"

"Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. I promise…"

He remembered this hill.

A soft light of pink rose up in the sky just like that day. Just like looking through a glass, Winterfell's towering granite walls bit the horizon in the eve of the morning and a clear map of memories, smells and sounds was knitted instantly inside his mind. For the first time in his life he couldn't tell if this was a dream or reality, almost fearing to breathe and accidentally loose it behind the mist but he never heard a holdfast speak so loudly to someone, to a human, like Winterfell was speaking to him now. All Jon could do was let himself disappear into an invisible hug, into the memory of his father's eyes when he had said goodbye to him, into the protection of The North where his blood had his reason to be.

His horse was tired and so was he, but he put one last effort in one single movement. The hill became a small spot and soon he was filled with a wave of sounds belonging to a small folk. Winter Town welcomed him with warm voices of vibrant workers, women, children, stable boys, inn keepers and blacksmiths, streets and market squares were flooded with crowds which automatically took a glimpse of him or his sword in this case. From a quick calculus in his head, Jon took notion of how the crafts and industry of the city had been harshly reduced to almost its fifty per cent, and he didn't need Maester Luwin to understand the laws of war always came with a price. No one, not even the commoners, could hide their way out of it.

The Great Keep towered the city flanks almost reaching the clouds. He rode past the gates, the very same gates which had seen off Robb and the Great Lords not so long ago, and dismounted. His eyes rotated 180 degrees, trying to make up for all the time he had not seen it and it felt almost like seeing a ray of sunlight after a long raining season. The armory, the courtyard, Ser Rodrik's training lessons, Mikken's forge, Maester Luwin's chains clinkering, his brothers and sisters' laughs. It was almost like time had stopped and past and present merged together as one. Ghost immediately leapt off from a shadowy corner where he had been waiting and ran to meet him.

"You sure know how to leave someone behind…" Jon told him, playfully.

He made his way to the stables and left his horse there to be tented and watered. As he gave the instructions, he heard voices outside.

"You can't leave, Bran! Do you remember what you promised to Robb?" Maester Luwin's voice hit him, sounding discouraging.

"I know but I'm only going for ride with Dancer. It's only for a moment…"

"It's unwise to do that. Robb told you to remain here. He also told you to take care of Rickon and…"

"I know what he said but that doesn't mean I can do it. No one can. He shouldn't have left in the first place… and mother…"  
"If this it about your legs…"

"It's not about my legs! I don't want to do it if he's not here."

"And what if I'm here?" Jon said with a broad smile, taking a few steps to them.

Bran's eyes widened, inches of surprise and disbelief climbed up the young face as Jon stood in front of him. Jon knew the boy was deciding if he was a hallucination or not but the clouds from his eyes lifted after several blinks and a giant smile replaced them instantly. He almost threw himself from Dancer's saddle, only to be catch by Jon in midair and the two brothers embraced one another, after what it seemed like years apart.

"Jon! It's really you!" He screamed excitedly. "I can't believe it."

"Welcome, my lord." Maester Luwin greeted him politely. "You must be tired after a long journey."  
"Maester Luwin… I'm her…"

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Jon." He interrupted him. "I know why you're here, and I also know why House Mormont's greatsword is with you as well. If The Night's Watch has anything to say about it, why should I?"

"Jon… are you going to the war too?" Bran questioned, with a sad tone.

"The Night's Watch gave me an order to retake Ice, Father's sword, and bring it back to the North where it belongs. I'll be gone shortly, to meet up with Robb's host and fulfill my duty." He explained. "But first, I will be need supplies and…"

"And rest." Maester Luwin finished for him. "You can be on your way on the morning. You'll have your fresh horse and supplies, as well."

"Thanks. That'll be great." He smiled.

"You must be hungry. I'll see you have something to eat right away." Maester Luwin observed, sharply. "Bran, tell Hodor to take you to your room, dress you up and come down for supper."

The younger boy closed his hands against Jon's neck one last time and called Hodor, who took him from his arms. Jon walked with Maester Luwin through the gates of the Great Keep and his shoulders relaxed at the sudden warmth of fire expelled from the hearths at both sides. It was strange to be amidst the passage halls again and not fearing to be run over by Arya or Bran in another one of their quarrels, but certainly the servants and squires were doing a fine job imitating them. The Great Hall never seemed so chaotic, almost like a basket full of wildfire had exploded right at the center. He had to look twice before stepping accidentally in pools of ale dripping from the tables, broken chairs and chandeliers and the very tapestries of their House ravished and stained down on the floor, and he couldn't even begin with all the floating smells. It wasn't a surprise though, Jon expected no less from the Great Lords and their kind of feasts but when he was close enough a peculiar scent invaded him abruptly, masking all the others combined.

"Blood…" Jon said, thinking out loud.

"Ah yes…" Maester Luwin frowned, with a knowing look. "Lord Umber and Robb had a misunderstanding last night. Grey Wind bit off two of his fingers but the Greatjon did retract after that. Luckily, it didn't come to violence."

Grey Wind? Why did he find that hard to believe? Jon had a strange feeling in his chest instantly. Almost, like a voice in his head telling him it wasn't the direwolf doing at all. He swallowed hard at the thought, mentally kicking himself for considering it. But really… could it be possible that Robb was the one who did that? Could it be possible that maybe his brother felt the opposite of him when he warged into Grey Wind? Both twin wolves were as different as the sun and the moon. Grey Wind was explosive, protective, hot headed and strong while Ghost was calm, passive and rational and maybe there laid the true reason why Robb would easily loose control over it, unlike him. Yet, he knew it wasn't the time to be thinking of it, at least till he could look into Robb's eyes and ask him once they're alone.

"Any news from the south?" He asked.

"I'm afraid not, my lord." Maester Luwin shook his head, sadly. "But Lady Catelyn will be reunited with your brother at the front with some Manderly men. And Ser Rodrik must be on his way to Winterfell now, to keep an eye on the boys."

"Good. After what I heard today I had a bad feeling for leaving Bran here, but I know he will be better when Ser Rodrik arrives."  
"You don't have to worry about them. We'll keep them safe."

Bran descended shortly after and he along with Rickon shared a meal with him. The boys could hardly keep their eyes away from Longclaw the whole time and when the food was starting to get cold Jon let Bran hold it for a moment. Delight and admiration crossed the younger brother's face like never before, seizing the wolf-shaped blade in his little hands like nothing else and suddenly the rest of the world fell second to him.

"It's heavy…" He giggled. "But it's smaller than Ice."

"Aye…" Jon nodded. "But both are Valyrian swords all the same."

"I know. I've seen them together… in my dreams." He confessed.

"Really?" Jon glared at him, suddenly interested.

"Yeah. They were both fighting side by side…" Bran's eyes lifted after that. "They will protect us, won't they? That's why they are here."

"Yes, Bran. They will." Jon said, with a smile.

________________________________________

The sky was splattered with tints of pink and blue in the distance when the night was coming to an end. The last stars prevailed more than usual in the northern hemisphere, just enough for his eyes to take one last look at them before sunrise. The day had come and one more time he would've to say goodbye again to his loved ones so he knew the bitter taste in his mouth better than anybody, but also knew that sacrifices would have to be done for a greatest purpose and he indented to carry out this one to the end.

He made his way toward Bran's room in absolute silence and slid inside, feeling comfortable the lack of light covered the very guilty lines of his face. Even the soft angles of the shadows reminded him of the day he had left for The Wall and Catelyn Stark had kicked him out of this place but now Bran was alone, sleeping peacefully under a pile of furs. The flames from the candles were dancing sheepishly in Bran's cheeks with a protective halo just about the same time the first lights of the morning peered through the crystals to bathe the room. Jon took a few steps toward him and placed his hand in the child's forehead gently, praying to the gods to allow this moment again and preserve the future ones. He still had a long way to go before reaching Robb's camp but anywhere he'd be tomorrow, he was certain the minutes inside this room would prevail in his head for the rest of his life. With a shrunken heart, Jon rose up without looking back and left.

Ghost's eyes were glimmering like two ruby stones in the dark yard when he headed to the stables. The household was still asleep but Bran's window emitted a soft screen of candlelight, never waning even in the coldest nights, and Jon wished he could see it even after a distance of hundred miles like a reminder that everything was okay in Winterfell. After a quick inspection of the supplies, he stroked the saddled stallion's mane with one hand and mounted, embed with a new fire in his eyes.

"Let's go Ghost…" He called. The direwolf joined him at command and both sped up.

Soon, the only marks left of them in Winterfell were their hoof and paw prints in the snow.


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.

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On the morning of the third day, his eyes were affronted with the very well known lines of Moat Cailin. The blocks of black basalt looked like an outstretched hand of a giant sinking in the distance, waving one last goodbye to the skies above before being dethroned by the Neck's hills. It had been like centuries since the last time Jon was there. His father had taken Robb, Theon and him to hunt in the Wolfswood, but they had lost track of time and the night suddenly fell on them so they'd decided to sleep here. They'd spent the whole night listening to stories about it and learning its most unshared secrets to the point they could no longer sleep well for two or three days after. Thanks to that though, Jon was one of the few people in the world who knew the truth behind Moat Cailin, all its tricks and hidden passages. He also knew it was a mortal trap despite the appearance of a good for nothing old ruin.

Ghost sniffed the air. The fauna was everywhere they could look at, under every collection of stones, every damp fertile inch of land and every column of steam raising from the poisonous bogs and marshes. To Jon, it seemed to tell plainly that any innocent walk could mean becoming part of The Neck itself, no matter how large the army was. He maneuvered the reins gracefully through the few open pockets of the road until his steps were enclosed by a random ring of arrows jutting out the ground, probably due to archers' practice not so far. He smiled to himself.

The rich Neck's air was baptized with a sweet summer snow of thousands of tents, cookfires, steel tipped lances, horses and the whole strength of the North force at his feet.

The large camp left not a single glimpse of green squares to the eye, the voices echoed with an unheard magnitude from years of human abandonment since the last wars had ended and the sea of nickel melted together with the horizon wholly. Jon marched forward with Ghost trotting beside him, his hands flexed against the reins feeling a jolt of adrenaline and his eyes drank finally the length of all the banners flying atop of his head. When the ground proved to be dry enough, he came to a halt and fixed a lengthy stare to the rows of men and horses. One after another heads turned to him in confusion, several bodies froze in their ways out or in and whispers of "Jon" "Snow is here" "Ned's bastard" "Robb's brother" were heard nonstop.

But it was a glimpse of sharp steel over his shoulder which drew back all his attention.

"Shouldn't you be at The Wall, Snow?" He heard at his back.

"Shouldn't you be of better use with a sword in your hand, Karstark?" He answered, smiling.

He turned around and faced the Heir of Karhold Harrion Karstark, who was leaning over him with a sword inches away from his neck. But suddenly he let go of it and hugged Jon, like he hadn't seen him in a long time.

"I'm glad you're here Jon." He said cheerfully. "Maybe now we can get a break from Robb's obsessive battle lectures."

"Where is he? I need to see him."

"At the war council, where else?" Harrion pointed to the high ground ahead of them. "Come on, I'll take you there myself."

Jon followed Lord Rickard's son blindly. The cold stares soon became discreet bows, even some squires offered to look after his horse eagerly. Jon nodded to them and his eyes searched for Ghost but the direwolf had long since disappeared, probably following his brother down to the unseen boundaries of the camp. He straightened his head and a high-roofed tent peered over the distance, with steeply pitched slopes rising to peaks and a handful of screams and bellows breaking from the inside. The wet mud soon opened at their feet and the soon-to-be-tumbled-down entrance revealed a large and crowded table, loud enough to be heard several leagues away. Even the short candles were casting pitiful shadows over the wood which sustained heavy blows and ripples.

"They've been like that from almost three hours." Harrion whispered to him.

"Tywin Lannister is sprouting in the Trident like some bad weed while we seat here. We need to march now, put their men to flight and prevent any early attempt to besiege more castles south of the Trident."

"We'll loose men. We'll loose mounted force. We can't afford to meet him and expect a victory when the numbers are greatly on his side."

"Even if we consider doing that, Moat Cailin needs to be heavily garrisoned before leaving The North. Men we won't be able to fill in our ranks later."

"And do you think the crannogmen will only wave them as they watch Lannisters parade through their lands?"

"It's exactly what the Lords of the Vale did with Tyrion Lannister. Nothing!"

Shouts and screams went on forever. Jon had never heard so many voices speak at once, but there was one yet to be heard. Robb remained silent in his seat, listening quietly to all his bannermen and probably weighting each of their arguments individually before making a conclusion. The fire reflection in his silvery breastplate launched trails of orange light over the table and the mass of pelts at his right and left all the same making him even greater than the Greatjon, but his eyes seemed to be someplace else, somewhere between the map and the pieces draping it. For a moment, his clenched jaw and fierce immersed look gave Jon the feeling he was looking at his own father, or how he would've looked at the eve of the Battle of the Trident.

"They did something." Finally Robb's voice calmed the Lords. "Tyrion Lannister escaped but we know for certain he reached his father's camp in no time at all. That means Tywin Lannister sealed the Kingsroad all the way up to the Trident's crossing and is well placed there with a large army. Raventree and Harrenhal fell and Lord Blackwood holds Riverrun, which is now under siege by Jamie Lannister. Seagard and the Twins stand alone now."

"All more reasons for them to join our cause." Robett Glover said. "If we split our army in two and break the siege we will have their support and their men as well."

"Not to mention, the Kingslayer. Or what would be left of him." The Greatjon bellowed, sending his sixth or seventh goblet flying into the air like he had Jamie Lannister's face right at the other end.

Cheers and more shouts erupted again, with more banging of their fists and ale horns against the table. By the time they were done, Rickard Karstark titled his head to the tent entrance and coughed.

"Well. I'm glad you decided to grace us with your presence, Harrion." He addressed his son snorting. "You should've been here hours ago."

"I'm sorry, Father." He excused himself with an innocent smile. "I was on my way here when I stumbled into someone."

Harrion moved to the left and revealed his companion to the baffled men. For a moment, the crackle of candles and the sound of fingers rasping parchment cemented the air while the thundering voices had turned into nothing more than a mix of stuffed breaths. Jon was almost sure now his body had been carved into stone, sword and everything. He exchanged a brief and wordlessly look with everyone until he came to a stop when his eyes found Robb lastly. Finally, the two pair of eyes met again, blue on grey and grey on blue, and that alone said more between them than nothing ever could.

"Jon…" Robb breathed, standing up. His lips turned into a warm smile instantly, one he reserved only to his brothers and sisters. Theon, sitting right next to him, only laded his head annoyingly to the side.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, my Lords…" Jon began courteously. He welcomed all the strangled looks together on him with almost military deference, like his Father had taught him.

"Stark Two is here!" The Greatjon roared before he could go on and was joined by most of Robb's bannermen at once.

Jon was indeed more surprised now than before. He hadn't expected to be received like that. He was a bastard nonetheless, and a deserter too in their eyes. Surely, the Great Lords still didn't know of his secret concerning his vows to the Night's Watch, vows which do not longer exist and yet he had chosen to remain fealty to them. He waited until the half drunk chorus in his name could cease but a cold voice did that for him first.

"He's not a Stark. He's a bastard." Theon claimed in a low voice, but Jon heard him still.

"Mother, look!" Dacey Mormont observed, next to her mother Lady Maege Mormont. "He's carrying our House's ancestral sword Longclaw. He's the man Uncle Jeor sent us."

"So he did keep his word." Lady Mormont chuckled, watching him like a member of her family. "You're the new owner of my Brother's sword. Welcome, Jon Snow."

"Is this true?" Lord Hornwood asked, shifting his eyes between Jon and Robb. "Lord Commander Mormont sent one of his own?"

"It is, Lord Hornwood." Robb answered him, eyeing Theon especially. "He has all right to be here as any of us."

"It is only the interest of the Night's Watch what brings me here, my lords." Jon explained plainly. "Lord Commander Mormont doesn't think it's legitimate for the crown to self appropriate one of the only remaining Valyrian Swords in The North, Ice. By law, it belongs in The North, to protect its people from the threats which lay Beyond the Wall. I'm here to help in my brother's cause and fight to bring it back, if necessary."

"Ice, huh?" The Greatjon did an approving grunt. "That's alright, boy. We all expect to get our hands on something from that Red Keep for what they did to your father."

"My Lords…" Robb raised respectfully his voice over them. "Would you be so kind to leave me a moment alone with my brother."

The Northern Lords and their sons rose from their seats and bowed. As they passed next to Jon most of them patted his shoulder fatherly or exchanged a few courtesy words with him, gestures he returned kindly. But Theon Greyjoy only watched him harshly and dashed off, without a word. Finally Jon and Robb stood there alone, face to face.

For a moment, only the clatter from steel against steel and the sound of chopping wood echoed faintly and alone inside the walls. Robb's eyes were shining so brightly that if the Ice Dragon wasn't inside of them, it was very close. The next moment, he closed the distance between them and hugged Jon with a tight grip, pressing his eyes shut against his fur. Jon's arms circled him, his hands buried in the soft auburn curls protectively with the gusts of wind only bringing them closer. When they pulled back, both smiled like they haven't seen each other in years probably.

"I never thought you'd be in the rearguard." Robb joked lightly, still with a hand in his brother's shoulder.

"Very funny." Jon retorted and his frown suddenly deepened. "You left me no choice. If you had told me everything from the beginning, I would've gotten here sooner."

"You know I couldn't do that. It was never my intention to drag you out of the Night's Watch and take you into a bloody campaign with me. I wanted you to follow your own decisions because…" Robb hesitated and searched for his eyes before continue. "I just need to be sure you won't regret this."

"I won't." Jon assured him. "I will never regret this. This is my place, Robb. By your side, always…"

"Well, it's not too late you know." Robb murmured. "Soon I will have to start the negotiations with Walder Frey. I can't imagine any man in his right mind to be willingly up for something like th-"

"Robb." Jon cut him, taking a step forward and clutching his face between his hands. "Stop trying to ease this for me. You can leave that for your bannermen but not for me. Tell me, honestly. What are we up against?"

Robb drifted his eyes away.

"Something bigger than you and me." He confessed after a silence and his blue eyes burned with brutal truth.

Jon said nothing. He knew Robb was right. After this moment there would be no place for mistakes or retreats, because it could mean great losses for both of them. And, being so close, he was reading even worse things inside his brother's eyes. One faulty step and their father and sisters' lives would be in danger forever. One rough breath and embers would stir beneath the earth, consuming everything with high tongues of red fire. The Lannisters army's advance was now measured in hundred of meters not miles, with fresh troops renewed from the West front continuously so it was only a matter of time for the castles in the Riverlands to perish whether after a nasty fighting or a hopeless resignation. Towns and villages near Stone Hedge had been plagued with the worst part of The Mountain's raiding, earth and houses put to the torch and any chance of fighting back was severely evacuated. And Jon knew the North was next. Robb and his men were not likely to surrender a single piece of it, it wasn't in his brother's nature to retreat even when armed with only a wooden sword, but the enemy's bulk was growing larger against their daily thinner southern line flank. The days to come were not very promising.

"Even if it's as big as you say, you have very good generals by your side. Either you go against Tywin Lannister or the Kingslayer, these men will follow you into battle just like they did for Father before. And…" He stopped, feeling a whip of fire burning in his throat. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Robb half-smiled. He turned away from Jon and picked up the map from the table, rolling it securely between his gauntleted hands.

"I should be the one who says that. I'm your older brother." He admitted, looking at him with curls falling before his eyes. "If this goes as I planned we won't have to worry. But I will need the Riverlords support first and to do that I must break the siege, at any cost."

"And this implies convincing Lord Frey as well." Jon recalled.

"He's my mother's bannerman. I believe she doesn't trust any Frey but if I'm granted an audience at The Twins I will make sure to do everything I can to convince him."

"Just like you convinced Lord Commander Mormont?" Jon said, amusingly. Robb did a distracted nod, but his voice turned rather nostalgic then.

"It didn't work for our younger brothers though."

"I know." Jon seconded. "I stopped at Winterfell in my way here. They miss their mother."

"I told my mother specifically she should go to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon need her more than I do here but she just wouldn't listen. She's been fearing for the girls too." He sighed remorsefully. "That's why I have to do this. For them and Father."

By this Jon knew he was referring to the deal with Walder Frey, the campaign against Tywin Lannister and the also not so inspiring retake of Riverrun. Every mile he had endured in this journey was for every time this war sprouted a new and more slippery front, and it wasn't yet done. He stopped to look at Robb extensively and admired how much his brother had grown up in these few days they haven't seen each other. His features seemed to be carved with a knife now, his beard was like his but rusty and his brow was more curved into a frown than usual, altogether made him a very realistic and younger copy of their Father. The solemnity in his eyes was a promise that each lesson Lord Stark had invested on them would not be in vain. Jon smiled lightly and satisfied.

"You are like him." He whispered. "I'm sure he is very proud of you right now."

A pang of pain assaulted Robb's face for the first time since their meeting. Pain and fear but Jon wasn't sure because Robb hid it very fast as usual. But it was there still and Jon wondered since when it had been there. He turned his back on him again but this time his body was half claimed by darkness, only a brilliant orange line cut his frame from it. Something was wrong.

"I'm not like him." Robb admitted, barely audible. "Not after what I did."

Jon's eyes widened. The shadows inside the walls were shifting and for a moment, he swore a wolf had replaced his brother's shape. A wolf like him, like the ones that lived inside both of them, like the ones that were running to face lions away from their home. He was prepared for this moment, nothing else had plagued his mind since he left The Night's Watch but this was far more real than he had anticipated in the first place and he found himself white and inert, like Winterfell's practice dummies. All those moments when Robb tried to reveal the truth were spiraling inside his head, the clearest of all was at the woods and Jon recited to himself the words he had heard that night. "I should've told him everything. I should've told him about the sword and about this. Even though, I don't know if he'll believe me." Now nothing seemed more exact than this. Nothing fit more perfectly, not even the sea and the shore. Not even north and winter.

"I'm sorry." Robb continued, almost scaring him. "I shouldn't have said-"

"No…" Jon interrupted him, and his eyes pierced through his with unknown shades of grey. His blood was running so fast he felt his cheeks burning up. "Robb… I… I kno-"

"Robb!" Theon's urgent voice hit them both the same. Neither of them had noticed his presence till now.

"What?" Robb turned to him, bluntly.

"Your mother is here." He told him, in a dutiful tone. "She wants to see you."


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: English is not my natural language, so I'm sorry for any grammatical mistake you may find.

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"Your mother is here." He told him, in a dutiful tone. "She wants to see you."

Jon sighed. If there was a man for each time they were interrupted like that Tywin Lannister would surely pay him for joining his army and attack Westeros. Robb looked at him apologetically. So much for their first meeting after what happened at The Wall and it's seemed like they would have to keep waiting again for a proper talk. But Jon understood, nonetheless. He knew Robb also wanted to see Lady Catelyn, despite what he said earlier. At least he would, if he were him.

"It's okay. You should go." He said convincingly.

"I'm sorry." Robb apologized again. "I'll talk with you later, okay?"

He ducked out of the tent and left after Theon. Jon stood there alone, watching their shadows drifting away in the tent wall. His eyes came to rest on the pommel of Longclaw. He knew the blade needed polishing and a slight memory of his Father with Ice in the Godswood captured his eyes again like so many times. Coming the night, it always looked just like the silvery surface of the pool.

Whenever Ice was now, he was sure its new owner wouldn't waste a single thought in it, not like his father had. He almost could picture it, the dark metal chained under a heavy coat of red. Or maybe, they hadn't even found a purpose for it and laid dark and dusty in an old armory. Jon could laugh at how ironic it sounded. They were in need of everything they could to protect The Wall, now more than ever since Sam and the others had gone Beyond The Wall, and The King only was using it to collect dust in King's Landing. With heavy eyes, he went outside so he could find a place where he could be alone but Harrion jogged to his side the moment he saw him.

"That's a fine Valyrian sword you have there." He praised, breathlessly. "No wonder Lord Commander wants Ice so badly. But why did he give it to you?"

"I saved his life." From a White Walker. He wanted to add but stopped himself.

"Well, we can hope to see you fighting with it." Harrion commented. "Maybe now you can come up with a decent round after last time."  
"Last time I blackened your eye, if I remember correctly." Jon laughed.

"I was partnered with Eddard, what did you expect?" Harrion protested eagerly. "A straw man fights better I think. And you had Robb besides."

"Yeah. He tripped though. And disarmed your brother with his foot."

"He hasn't got any better since."He sighed hopelessly. "Maybe now that you're here you can teach him a thing or two. For the honor of our house."

"He was named after my father. I think he understands of honor." Jon grinned faintly.

Both walked through a multitude of northerners and their fires, which were attacking the air with seldom plumes of smoke. The sky was turning into the color of a dark bruise above them, but ribbons of light were still dimly visible between tent roofs and steelpoints of spikes. Over the distance, the three towers were a set of monstrous dark clouds looking down on them as a man would look down on an insect but The Children's Tower revetment was the exception. The entire Karstark's campsite, the largest amongst Robb's bannermen, was spread widely under its vigilant and unanimated walls. Lord Karstark had taken quarters inside the tower but his three sons had decided to camp outside in the open, apparently they rather had dirt sticking to their boots than their own Father. Jon couldn't blame them.

By the time they arrived, the mood was overly festive. Karstark men-at-arms were so numerous than most of them elbowed each other in their hurried ways between tents alleys and the cookfires were partially obscured by thousands of shoulders, armored arms and helms. The white sun banner was flapping and fluttering over their heads proudly, only interrupted by regular bursts of cheers and laugher. They had even built a barricade of sharpened stakes, for fighting purposes. Harrion fasted his pace and Jon tiptoed to see what was going on inside. He spotted Eddard Karstark, Lord Rickard's second son, standing with a sword in his hand and throwing blows carelessly against one of his father's man. It's seemed like the boy was waiting for an invisible push to guide the weight of his sword for him, because none of his were doing any justice.

"Stop shaming our house, little brother!" Harrion shouted, rocking his upper body between the stakes. "You know you can't blame the wine this time."

Eddard fumed at him when he was given a short lapse. Too short because the sword found him again and the floor replaced the sky. His way of fighting reminded Jon of Grenn back when he first met him in Castle Black, they were no more than recruits by then. He knew the second of the Karstark's children was better with a lance than a sword, as he had proven in several opportunities, he was slow and methodic but he was no Sam still.

"Thanks for the support, brother." Eddard wailed. He approached with his face soaked in sweat. "Where is Robb? I thought he was coming for the fight too."

"He's busy." Jon explained shortly. "What? You think I'm not much of a challenge?"

"We'll see Snow. Don't cry when I break that wolf toy of yours."

Harrion barked out a laugh and Jon jumped inside the pit. He could see Eddard picking up a great wood-and-leather shield blazoned with the white sun to match his longsword. More curious faces were attracted to the duel with each minute, even from other houses. He unsheathed and his steps took him warily away from Eddard, prowling around him. Soon Lord Karstark's son mimicked him, but on each turn his eyes were shouting to the world his next move so his sword arm never found Jon in the place supposed to. His thrust came too late and heavy, leaving open gaps everywhere so Jon could parry the blows easily, and all of the Kingsguard's together if they were all that similar. He blocked a downcut right on time, Longclaw taking the place of his body and slammed a counterstroke that drove back his opponent loudly.

"I'm impressed." Eddard smirked, confidently. "Is this how they teach you to fight in the Night's Watch?"

Jon let the fight came to him. He had missed all those training sessions he used to have with Grenn and the others, but apparently his body had more memory than his mind did. Eddard charged again, his longsword accelerating the air around him and throwing cuts to break Jon's defense right and left, but always missed. Cursing, he took the hilt of his sword with two hands and tried an upswing to Jon's throat but it never came. Jon twisted his body away and his two arms immobilized the shortest attack in history, nothing could be done when a sidestroke caught the other boy's low waist. Then, Jon slammed a mailed forearm into his chest and sent him falling backwards ostentatiously. Panting, he breathed an icy smile and took Eddard's hand to help him on his feet.

"Come. Try it again." He told him. "But get your shield up…"

"…or he'll ring your head like a bell." A third voice finished for him.

Jon raised his head and found Robb, leaning against the edge of the fighting pit with his hands crossed in front of him. He was with Harrion and Theon, each on one side. Apparently they had arrived some minutes after the fight started, but it wasn't till now Jon had any notion of it. Cold strings of wind blew from the east, shaking lightly the rickety stakes and entwining with their locks of hair neatly. Only after that, Robb smiled. Eddard looked positively sick.

"Stop looking like that, Edd." Harrion said, with a hint of humor. "You're not taking on these two by yourself. I'll help you."

Robb asked Jon with his eyes if it was okay to join him. Harrion had run to his brother's side briskly and now was whispering something in his ear, probably how to make the best of the fight without embarrassing themselves too much. He turned to Robb after and granted an overconfident smile.

"Are you going to stand there all day, Stark?"

Reluctantly, Robb leapt over the stakes and walked to his brother with a cautious look. Jon oddly did not respond, only acknowledged his presence like he used to do sometimes with the other recruits at Castle Black. They had done that so many times in the past, since they were big enough to walk, since they used to shout names of knights and heroes at each other in Winterfell, that sometimes talk was just secondary. This kind of talk, though. The one they liked best was the talk of swords and that lasted forever. Yet, when Robb came shoulder to shoulder with him, Jon gave him a nudge with his.

"Don't fall this time."

Robb twitched his mouth. And waited. The Karstark's brothers both sped up at the same time and pressed the attack together, Harrion against Robb and Eddard against Jon. Both mirrored the other with the same angle in their shield arms and blocked, the combined clash of steel enveloped long miles around them and animals burst from their underground burrows noisily. Jon took the fight several meters away, mostly retreating from Eddard's restless sword and matching with his when he saw the young boy's distracted eyes. He tried a slash to his head but only found a corporeal shield instead of skin, and smiled knowing Eddard had listened to his counsel. He drove Longclaw down when Eddard swung his blade at his own ribs and kicked it to disengage both swiftly.

Looking from the corner of his eye, he found Robb behind a cloud of dust and Harrion swinging his blade so fast that the fighting pit was shrinking underneath them. He had him cornered and Jon swore for a moment one of two locks of auburn hair had been severed from his head. But Robb let him come and lastly caged the blade between his arm and ribs. The counterattack came so fast that Harrion saw grey and next tasted only dirt and mud in his mouth. Jon was thrown out off-balance for a bit. The last time Robb had done that, it was to a white and blue corpse and didn't end up that well.

"He's yours Robb!" Theon yelled at his right.

"We're only practicing Theon." Robb said, taking Harrion's hand to help him on his feet.

Even from this distance, Jon could see Theon sneering. He wiped out a sheen of sweat with his forearm and turned back to the fight. More and more onlookers started gathering around the edges like nocturne creatures in the night, most of them were drunken Umber men shouting words of encouragement to the Young Wolf against the Kingslayer. When the fight resumed, a vast majority had to step back when the clash of steel rang too close to their faces. The force and speed was thrice their first round and their muscles started to numb underneath leather, like a bunch of shafts snaking one by one from the tip of their fingers. One second they were left and the next right, then it started all over again.

Jon found himself with Eddard's arm locked around his neck. He had his both hands wrestling to break free until Eddard jolted with pain and lost balance. Jon seized the moment and spun readily so Longclaw could take his place. Seeing Eddard again in the ground was now nothing new, yet this time he had measured the force so he wouldn't feel so sore after. Harrion's sword fell very close to him too, so the other fight hadn't gone differently but Robb's face was all damp and covered in mud. A weary smile crossed Jon's face, he probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight but this was the kind of feeling he enjoyed most after a good training. That joy ended crushingly.

"I hope Bran never learns anything from you because you're a disgrace to your family." He heard Theon's poisonous voice.

His eyes flared up with rage and his fingers locked around the hilt unconsciously. If he had been less angry he would've probably noticed the missing "Snow" or "bastard" there but at that point he no longer cared about anything. He darted his eyes to the crowd convinced to force Theon into a challenge whether he wanted or not, but stopped bluntly when he realized Theon wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Robb.

"Your father would be better if he never gets out so he doesn't have to see your pathetic face again, Stark."

Everyone had gone deadly silent. Heads started turning in confusion, almost like being slapped one by one. The only thing speaking loud enough were Theon's blazing eyes in the night, burning with such severity they almost opened holes inside someone's stomach. Harrion and Eddard turned to each other confusingly, wondering if he had gone crazy. And Robb only stared at him, pale-faced.

"What? You're going to stop fighting for that too? Is that an excuse?" Theon shouted again. Dreadfully. Full of hate.

"Theon, wai-" Harrion tried to say.

"No." Robb commanded icily. "Let him speak."

"I grew up with you Robb. I've watched you all my life since you were a baby, since you were no capable of holding a sword or riding a horse. But I always knew someday you'll do both better than anyone else inside those walls. Winterfell was to be yours before you even had notion of it. I've decided I wanted to follow you wherever you go, because I wanted to see that day. The day came but your sword arm never touched the sky no more than when you were ten. How do you expect to win this war if you can't fight without fearing to hurt or kill your opponents? Do you think the Lannisters are going to show the same mercy as you now? Do you think they are all like your father? Honorable? Loyal? Forgiving? We are at war. You lose your men and kill your enemies. Isn't an insult to House Stark that I know that better than you? I wanted to see a Lord, we all wanted that but instead all I see is a boy who doesn't want to fight his own battles."

The well in their feet was growing deeper and deeper. Theon's words were stabbing more than swords and rivers of acid. Even when he wasn't saying anything, his echo still lingered heavily in everyone's ears. Their faces were stunned to no end.

"Harrion didn't even feel your blows. You let him win twice or thrice, you let him win so many times I lost count. You fight like those knights Sansa used to like so much, never a stain of blood in neither your armor nor your blade. But you don't fight like you truly mean it. You don't fight the real war. Is this the side you want us to see when the battle starts? Is this what they deserve after all they've done to you? After they took away your Father and sisters? After they pushed your brother from a window? Your Father took me as his ward when Robert Baratheon won his crown. I was raised with the Stark children, but none of them felt more like my brother than you. You know why? I used to see my older brothers whenever I looked at you. Rodrik and Maron. Now, all I see is the ship that took them down."

"Stop Theon!" Jon snapped angrily.

Blood was falling from Robb's fist, soaking the hilt and all the way down to the tip of the blade. His eyes were hidden but the aura around him was agonizing. Even fallen leaves were crushed when they came near.

"And now you feel bad because you sent two thousand men with Lord Bolton to die for you. Is that it? Let me tell you something, you're not going to lose two thousand men. You'll lose hundred thousand men here. But you still don't see it, do you? Why are you fighting for, Robb? Tell me. Do you want to win this war? Do you want to save your father? Or you just want to take his place in the black cells under King's Landing and rot in there like your wolf's dying mother in the snow."

The sound of paws against the mud cut the air sharply. Growls stronger by the second. And then, Grey Wind emerged from the shadows, with his eyes liquid gold and teeth bared at them ferociously and Jon felt a drop of sweat falling from his temple. Then it hit him. He dropped the blade and ran to his brother, taking him by the shoulders but all he saw were two white eyeballs, distant and gone.

"Robb!" He shook him. He's not here. "Damn. Robb!"

The direwolf lurked forward, meters only separating them. And he wanted nothing else but Theon's blood. "Maybe I should let him." Jon thought, for an instant. "I can't believe I'm saving this idiot's life."

"What? You're hiding behind your bastard brother now?" Theon kept going, still unaware.

"Lord Umber!" Jon called with a stern voice. "Please, take Theon away from here."

The Greatjon's grey-haired head moved between the crowd and his enormous hand fell heavily in the younger boy's shoulder.  
"I'm not done with him, Snow!" He screamed.

"You are done." Jon stabbed him with a fierce look. "Get him out of my sight before I kill him."

"I should have you skinned for this, boy." The Greatjon threatened, dragging him away. "Out! All of ya'!"

With Theon gone, Jon turned to Robb. His breath was more laboured now and Grey Wind had stopped in midway, sniffing everything with his wet nose. Robb's bluish shade was returning to his vacant eyes slowly.

When midnight came, the moon crept slowly across the black sky and bathed the hillside with tints of bone and silver blindingly. The camp laid sleep like a big dragon with outstretched wings, except for some oil lamps dancing in its back like little dots of light. Jon found Robb sitting in the grass, looking down on them with Grey Wind at his side. He had his arm around the direwolf's neck and was stroking his fur with a lost expression in his face. He never met his eyes, but Jon was fully aware his brother had noticed him coming from behind.

"You know…" He said only.

"Yeah…" Jon whispered. He sat next to him and felt the cold night air across his cheeks. "Just like you know about me."

"Actually I don't." Robb chuckled, softly. "I don't know if you found a girl you like better than your own hair."

Jon laughed. He thought Robb would be extremely uncomfortable after the fight with Theon but his mood was light and relaxed. Maybe it was the effect of having Grey Wind next to him. Yet he knew deep inside he was still wounded.

"I didn't." He confessed, after a silence. "But I found out I'm a warg. And apparently my brother is one too."

"That explains the girl thing."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to tell you." Robb opposed. "I tried many times. I know it was you who followed me when I left the Wall. I felt you. But it's not the same as me. I…"

"You what?"

"I can't control it like you." He confessed. "If you hadn't stopped me, I probably would've killed him."

"But you didn't." Jon remarked. "Do you remember what you said the day we found the six pups in the snow?"

"I won't let them die." Robb repeated, inwardly.

"Well, you kept your word so far. And they did too. Summer saved Bran. Grey Wind and Ghost both you and me when we were at the Wall. Sam and the others still can't stop talking about that day." Jon paused and searched for his eyes. "I know you can control it Robb, but first there shouldn't be secrets between us. I mean, there never were before."

"You're right." Robb's voice trailed off, kind of embarrassed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this sooner."

"We have so many enemies now and last time I checked there's only two of us. We need to trust each other. I trust you're gonna keep your word, no matter what."

"You know I will." He said, in a whisper.

"Good. At least, now we can both agree in something. Because I was there just as much as you and I can't believe you're feeling guilty about someone like Theon Greyjoy."

"I probably deserved most of it. We've been having this kind of discussions since we left Winterfell, about everything I think. The north, the banners, Bran, my father and…"

"Me?"

"Uhm, yeah. But he's questioning my authority most of the time really, says what I should or shouldn't do even when I'm being counseled by the entire North. Sometimes he looks like a complete different Theon since Father is not with us."

"He doesn't look that much different to me."

"I suppose now I know how it's been like for you all those years in Winterfell." He struggled.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Nothing. For now. I can't send him away."

"Do you think he'll…?"

"Betray me? No, I don't. He wants this war probably even more than me."

"And after that?"

He was even afraid to ask. Robb did not respond but his lips were a thin line and his eyes blackened with dangerous pools of dark blue. Jon was sure he still hadn't come up with a straight answer to that, at least no one in his place would. But Robb's voice caught him off guard.

"Jon…" He whispered, somber. "When you go to sleep tonight, please keep you sword close. I will too."


	7. Chapter Seven

The darkest phase of the night crawled through the fabric of the tent. Black and grey shadows clasped atop of his head, slithering from the grommets of the sidewalls hungrily until the last sprays of moonlight were consumed, windows barred with obscurity and he could no longer see even the length of the bed or the rest of his body. If a trembling hand dared to light a candle now, it would be the only one burning in leagues around. Yet, for him it was a step or two from perfection. He couldn’t even propel himself to do it, if somebody sees him. After all the hours he had waited pretending to be asleep, and the next hours waiting for everyone to fall asleep, it wasn’t something he would do to crush it. He raised his head only inches from the bed, some dark curls still pooling in the cushions, and surveyed the room blindingly, nothing felt unusual or mismatched. Yet, just minutes ago, a faint and distant candlelight still wouldn’t yield to the darkness, and he hadn’t been at all surprised when assuming which tent it belonged to.

He could bet his life Robb was again studying maps until late hours in the night. Sitting, then standing, pacing uncontrollably until finally submitting into fatigue. It wasn’t in his place to judge him, but his own planning would be simply reduced to nothing if he still was awake. Luckily, it wasn’t long until the fire extinguished. He felt his knuckles tensed. It was time. He swung his legs over the bedside and thrust on his boots hastily, then worked on with fast fingers in the claps of his cloak. Finally he reached for Longclaw and fastened it into a black leather shoulder sheath with a whisper, the disturbance capitalized two red eyes in the darkness.

“We have to go.” He said. He received a low bark and a giant white head nuzzled his left leg. Then, his four legged companion dipped into the night with an elegant jump and he followed.

The encampment slept. Logs had long died, turned into stuffed vaults’ doors down in the black ground. There were still some shameful fingers of smoke billowing there and he found comfort walking in a highlighted road of some kind. He walked and brushed his fingertips with the fabric of the tents, maybe wondering why he would feel even less strange in a Lannisters camp than here. Maybe because it was absurd he would feel the need to leave in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Still, it was something he had to do. From time to time, he would have to crouch in dark alleys, waiting for whichever motion to die, before going on, his sword cramped further into his back with each step. When the right length of meters had released him, he gave up on his eyes and trusted only in Ghost’s senses, enriched from the blinding darkness. Though, he wished the direwolf had chosen a path where most spider webs weren’t lathering his mouth.

Behind him, a clear set of circular branches were cradling the last bits of the encampment. He had gone far enough.

He leaned on a willow near a shallow and stretch streambed and suddenly took interest in how the mud folded around his boots, of course it was everywhere when Ghost dove in, legs first, coming and going with short and blissful jumps. Jon knew it was his way of thanking him for his reunion with Grey Wind. The direwolves rarely separated now, one always where the other was, and always pinning and nipping even in the line formation of horses or far away. This night, Grey Wind stayed behind though, for the first time in days. As the miles kept spilling them out into the Riverlands and closer to the Twins, both animals started acting with a brisk behavior, growling and bending with their heavy furs titled upward. Jon kept an uneasy front, but he was rather worried. This was something he obviously couldn’t share with them. Even if he warged, he still was with his eyes blindfolded from the animal’s mind. Lately, he was starting to think his eyes were blindfolded from his own mind as well.

It’s ridiculous. He thought, his eyes closed and opened again, battling it away. Ghost diverted his attention from the fish colonies between the gravel beds and his paws and perked up his ears. Someone was coming. The sound of footsteps against broadleaves and rotting trunks muffled the soft weeping of the water, two only. Both shapes emerged from the woods, eerily. Jon didn’t need their faces, even if the moonlight was giving them to him.

“You’re the bastard of Winterfell.” said a young voice, arrogant and scornful.

“Next time you talk to him like that you’ll be walking back to Torrhen’s Square and this ridiculous rabbit will do the bargain with the wolves for you.” replied the other, hoarse and smoky.

“There’s no need for that, my lord.” Jon replied. He trailed his eyes between his two new companions and fought the urge to cover his nose from the stench.

They boy is about his age, tall and muscular and obviously northerner. He cradled a spear in his hand, with a carcass of a dead rabbit hanging from the tip. The other, about fifty, lined and weathered, had a scattered long grey hair conveying his face. He was wearing light leather-and-mail, much like him, and an obsidian fish fastened his cloak. He kept a cordial front with Jon, but was distrustful of the young lancer who accompanied him. Still, he moved forward and bowed slightly, eyes with a flicker of irony.

“No lord.” He said, plainly. “Just Blackfish.”

“Mind explaining why you summoned one of the Wild Hares this far south?” The lancer protested. “I know the Lord of Winterfell is your brother but I never saw you in the feasts.”

“He’s my half-brother and I was not allowed to join any of them in the feasts.” Jon kept a strong tenor in the word half-brother though he didn’t know why. 

“Well, it’s the same. You can tell him Torrhen’s Square is well-guarded and Benfred is making his father proud.” He explained disdainfully.

“Yes, the streets are positively safe with wooden clubs and hanged rabbits.” The Blackfish chanted sarcastically. The lancer from Torrhen’s Square shot him an angry glare and diverted his eyes, like a scolded child. More than a couple of times, he would switch his eyes and stare at Ghost in bewilderment, captivated with the huge white comet chasing the currents. But Jon gathered he was also partially jealous of such an impressive beast, while all he had was a rabbit in his hands. 

“Torrhen’s Square is not our concern now.” Jon pointed out. “You’ve been patrolling Stony Shore as well, right? I need to know if you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“Not that we know of. I mean, it’s not like longships can beach there”. He stuttered.

“They can and they will.” Jon warned, his brow furrowed with impatience. “Look, the Ironborns still haven’t given us a reason for being so perceptive but when Balon Greyjoy sends his longships afloat it would only mean one thing. The same thing it meant before. We can spend hours discussing if they are in open declaration of war or not, that’s not important, but if they are and we are not ready, it’s not going to end well. We can’t fight with two fronts opened at the same time.”

“They can’t come into our lands.” He said, perplexed. “They don’t have the strength, I mean—”

“What do you think they’ve been doing all these years, young rabbit?” The Blackfish answered, impassive. “Strength? They’re krakens. Their strength is the sea. Deepwood Motte and Torrhen’s Square are close to the sea.”

“I don’t mean to scare you.” Jon informed, unflinchingly. “It’s still too early to tell. I know you’re doing a fine job protecting Benfred and I don’t question that. Only, I will ask you to keep a close eye on the shorelines and the fishing villages. If you think the risk is too high, send scouts to screen their movements ahead but don’t pursue a confrontation pointlessly. Also, full moon nights are vital for your enemy, because the highest tides are desirable for perfect assaults on the beaches, so don’t forget that.”

“Y—yes, my lord…” The lancer babbled, now almost hooked to the bone.

Boys like that were everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. It was easy to play a war behind the facilities of a stronghold and a lord’s name, it was easy to foray farm roads disguised as warriors with dead rabbits in their spearheads and calling themselves invisibles, but when the flux of war came up past waist’s height and wasn’t going to get any lower, there were only few who could take it. Jon raised his hand and tugged at his black curls uneasily, because all of this made him think of Arya. She has always been one of the latter, and that’s one of the things Jon admired most about her, but she was still a little girl, and now trapped in one of the most dangerous places she could ever be. Air gushed out from his lungs painfully, his eyes lidded trying to see beyond the black nebula of pines and sentinels.

“I told my sister once that only the best swords have names….” He began. Low chords in his throat.

“We are the Wild Hares.” The boy told him brusquely, his voice no longer faltering. “We will honor the North. Just like the wolves.”

Jon smiled sadly. The Blackfish hooked his thump in his sword belt and threw a lengthy look over them, as if they were his own grandsons.

“I must take my leave now.” His shoulders faced north and his fingers flexed against the spear, the rabbit shook wildly. “I wish you good luck in the south… my lords.”

“You’re a good lad.” Jon nodded and bid him farewell. Surely it was going to be a long walk back to the North for him, but luckily it will prove fruitful. It had to.

He watched his departure blankly, the light poorly served the untrained eye until only a speckle of black and grey was left of him in the distance. Jon released his tension with a sigh, but there were traces of guilt in his face as well. It was still a mystery when he had learned to mimic Allister Thorne’s mind manipulation in younglings, only the thought of it didn’t bring any satisfaction, but it needed to be done either way. Sam, his friend, learned that way and his fragility turned into something else, something which could pass on as valor or boldness. Maybe his friend understood better his House’s words than him. This boy was no different.

“Ser Brynden, I’m sorry if I held you up from your duties.” Jon turned to Robb’s uncle, which his presence was still a surprise to him.

He had met him only a few days ago, when he arrived from the Eyrie to serve as Robb’s most trusted man. Giving that he was Lady Stark’s uncle, brother to her father Hoster Tully, Jon had expected the same harsh and cold treatment towards him, but the old knight had proven to be just the opposite of his niece. He was easy to be around with, loose and even one of the most impressive commanders Jon had seen in his life, with years and years of formation in war and battles aplenty, knowledge he was happy to share along with his younger nephew and Jon as well. Obviously, resentment never existed when two excited boys had wanted to get their ears full of war stories. So, the Blackfish imparted the same equal affection for Robb and him alike, much to Lady Stark’s annoyance. 

“We were on our way back, Jon… Me and the scouts.” He explained, a sheepish grin in his mouth. “Progress was made on that account, I can assure you. Though I don’t know if I can say the same for you. Was this really necessary?”

Jon sighed again. Both started their way back to the camp and Jon called Ghost, who immediately trotted to his side and shadowed their ankles. He remembered gloomily the words he had heard recently, almost like a battle cry in his mind. “When you go to sleep tonight, keep your sword close.” It was a decision he had to make fast, because Robb left it unsaid but there was no mistake or misgiving in his voice. He knew Theon might betray them sooner or later. This was necessary, and the question was why he didn’t do it before.

“Yes, it was. I know Robb will understand.” Jon kept his eyes in the road, resolutely. The Blackfish smirked.

“Well, someone had to talk some sense into these green boys of the North. You must be tired of watching them in the Night’s Watch too I take it.”

“Have you ever been in the Night’s Watch, Ser Brynden?” Jon asked, curiously.

“More times that I can count.” He admitted. “How is the Old Bear Mormont these days? Does he still keep that damn bird with him?”

“Yes, he does.” He smiled, remembering Lord Commander’s raven.

“He wasn’t so happy last time I saw him though. Kept complaining about the brothers of the Night’s Watch spending more time in Mole Town’s brothel than doing what they’re supposed to. You know how they call them?”

“Buried treasures.” Jon answered, obviously with a thin sheen of red in his face.

“I tell you, I’ve never seen something like that in my life. Of course, in the Eyrie there’s not much of buried treasures of that sort when the lowest place is only two feet from the clouds. It’s a fortune you are not from the Eyrie Jon, so I dare say you must have a buried treasure of your own.” 

Jon seemed to have taken sudden interest in the growing vegetation, but his face blushed slightly. He didn’t know why he was thinking of Robb’s muddy face from the other day in Moat Cailin or the black drops hanging from his curls. He blinked several times, trying to erase those images from his head, and said nothing. 

The predawn announced itself in the far east. When they stepped into the camp, it was already spilling light into the flat stretch of fields and the glare hurt both pair of eyes, so Jon reserved his with his hand. And then, he saw them. The Twins. Both identical castles sprouted to the heights in each side of the river, linked with a bridge which oversaw the fast currents below. There were splashes of metal and grey in the highest points of the battlements, winking in the morning haze, and files of archers nestled collaterally, waiting for whichever threat to assault their castles. He even had the impression they were willing to put three arrows in his head if he only dared to straighten his shield nine miles away. The western front was no different.

The Blackfish only emitted a dry laugh, laced with irony and disaffection. Apparently, he was no stranger to anything that came from the Lord of the Crossing. 

The soft muddy soil had begun to stir with the rising sun. Jon saw how the tents were emptied by the second and the settings for the new day rattled contagiously. The first to emerge, stretching his large torso, was Grey Wind who saw him in the distance and immediately padded toward the company. Jon took his paws, then scratched his head and shoulders affectionately, the way he would do with Ghost, the direwolf communicated his thanks with a rub to his knees, which made Jon’s lips squirmed upward.

“Go play with your brother.” He told him. The animal obeyed and a second later, was on Ghost, tackling him and biting his ears affectionally.

“Robb must’ve called for a meeting. We better hurry.” The Blackfish informed.

And the Knight of the Gate wasn’t mistaken. There was something unusual in the air, which Jon related to the same morning in Winterfell after Bran had fallen from the Tower. To his left, he only collected low mutters of different ranges and grades of discontent and to his right, the Northmen weren’t anything but butchers with feral looks. Also, Jon spotted Lord Bolton and Helman Tallhart sharing a private conversation right at the lowest bank of the river. With a shiver, he fastened his steps.

The thickest bulk of the army had congregated earlier. When Jon lifted the tent flaps, he found the usual circular formation, with Robb at the head of the table and both rows of men symmetrically placed on each side, like his crusts. Unusually, the closest ones this time were Lord Karstark and Lord Umber, one of them in a seat which had belonged to Theon not so long ago. Now, the heir of Iron Islands was in the furthest end of the table, with as much space between Robb and him as possible, and his face kept an unreadable front. Robb raised his eyes from the map the moment he saw Jon and the Blackfish, and lifted one eyebrow at them.

“Where were you?” He asked, distrustfully. His hands balled against each end of the table in a repetitive mode, like he was trying to protect it from everything except from him. 

“Hunting, with Ghost.” Jon answered, plainly. The Blackfish only nodded, standing for him. Robb sighed.

“And Cat?” His uncle wanted to know. Lady Catelyn was one of the most shocking absentees in the table.

“With Walder Frey.” Robb revealed, clearly upset with his answer. “She took my place and went to The Twins to speak with him.”

“I expect that’s going to take a while.”

“Yes. Time that I do not have.” Robb growled tiredly, the third time in the day he threatened to knock his chair.

“Patience, my lord.” Lord Karstark counseled. “Even with his whole brood, Lord Frey doesn’t match the men we have. It’s very unlikely he’ll deny our army across his gates.”

“Lord Bolton and Lord Tallhart are discussing a siege as well, in case it ends badly.” The Smalljon agreed.

“Yes, Robb.” Theon’s voice was unexpected. And it hit Robb and his men alike. “You can have The Twins, no one can say otherwise.”

Robb and Theon hadn’t spoken to each other once after their fight. Robb made the best he could to ignore him, whether in the line of march or during the nightfires. In a host of twenty thousand men, it was easy to pretend the other didn’t exist, but there were times like this when eventually they had to be face to face. Jon had been aware of Theon’s regret recently, he had been clear enough of his wishes to apologize from the very moment those words had left his mouth. But he hadn’t just hurt Robb verbally, he had also humiliated him and his ego in front of all his men. Forgiveness wouldn’t come easy. 

Robb rose slowly from his seat, his wolf aura followed as if Grey Wind was right at his heels but he wasn’t so unnaturally it came only from him, and he circled the table with thunderous eyes. He stopped only inches from Theon, and his voice was laced with not only ferocity but with some silky chords, a twisted charm, he only used when wanting everyone to follow his orders. And he could seduce furniture with that look. 

“Perhaps I should send you to take it for me, Theon. No army. No weapons. Just you and the so accomplished formalities you showed to me the other day. Maybe that way you’d wish I was the ship that took your brothers when they throw you into the river.”

Jon shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying hard not to chuckle. He looked around the table, and found Smalljon and the Karstark brothers just the same as him, a shadow of a mocking smile in their faces. Theon stood stiff and white like a gargoyle but he swallowed hard once or twice ashamed, and he didn’t dare to meet his gaze. But he didn’t have to. Suddenly, the tent flaps burst open and a female shape strode in, escorted by four unfamiliar men. Each wore twin towers, dark and blue on a field of pale silver-grey embroidered on the breasts of their surcoats. Everybody in the table turned to them, included Robb.

“Mother…” He breathed, half happy half uneasy. 

Catelyn Stark rotated her eyes, stopped once or twice, to exchange a wordlessly look with the High Lords until she found Jon and her face was blank and dry. Yet, for the first time in his life Jon felt her discouraging eyes were for Theon now instead of him. Most of the men in the room watched her in different levels of interest, trying to suppress their throats, knowing she carried Lord Frey’s final terms.

“Lord Frey has granted you your crossing.” She announced to her son. “His men are yours as well. Less the four hundred he will keep to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you.”

There was a relieved agreement spreading across the table but no one dared to speak just yet. Robb kept a solemn mask, to wise to give in an early satisfaction, and waited.

“What does he want in return?” He asked politely, aware of his lot’s presence. 

She only met his gaze and Jon knew there was something else there. Lady Stark had the same eyes that her son, but hers looked bitter and distant like a bank of rainy clouds in the sky.

“You will be taking his son Olyvar as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood of him in good time.” Robb blinked astonished and suddenly the map of Westeros in the table didn’t seem so complicated after all.

“And?”

“And Arya will marry his son Walder when they both come of age.” She continued, ignoring the lines that appeared in her face while she mentioned her daughter.

Jon trailed his eyes between Lady Stark’s companions. Lord Frey’s sons looked just like one single man in different stages of his elder life and he wandered if Arya’s future husband would be just another version of them. He could have his father’s look, but for all he knew Arya would still use Needle on him if he wasn’t bold enough to her liking. Robb’s jaw clenched under the phantomlike flames.

“And?”

“And… When the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer. He has a number he thinks will be suitable.”

Beacons of blue fire awoke in his eyes and a very large wave with different grades of indignation was threatening to form in the tip of his mouth. Jon knew Robb was trying to hold back as best as he could, but his mind was speaking, and screaming, wildly enough even for his own hearing. His face was intractable, contorted with utter shock and vacancy and disavowal all at once. The sound of the Blackfish patting his sword’s hilt seemed to bring back only a poor version of him. “You told Bran not to look away and now you can’t do the same?” But that question wasn’t for Robb. It was for him. Look away? Why would he? He felt strange, a bitter and metallic taste in his mouth, something he had probably chewed in Ghost’s body. But no. It came from somewhere even deeper, some place which even his warg self could not reach. His right hand pained him, sore probably from his iron grip on the wolf-headed pommel, but when he traced his eyes over his calloused fingers he was washed away with the memory of Robb’s own hand brush, the day he ran away from the Wall.

“Can I refuse?” Robb asked, his face carved with ice. 

“Not if you want to cross.” His mother replied.

“Then I consent.” The words left his mouth before he could actually think them. Catelyn only closed her eyes.

The four Frey moved between each other like some set of soldier pines shaken by the wind. The eldest, Ser Stevron, gave a step forward with smiling grey eyes.

“I’m afraid that’s not all, Lord Stark.” He stated. Robb’s brow furrowed. “We also request that Lady Stark stays at The Twins while we’re off to war. As a vouchersafe of your good intentions.”

If his indignation didn’t reach its heating point before now it certainly did, and only the table prevented him from doing something he’d probably regret later. Though, many of his personal guard were much closer to Walder Frey’s sons than him and they took no restrain when bursting their swords out of their sheaths violently. Ser Stevron and his brothers were impassive but the youngest, Ser Perwyn, reared and his frightened eyes kept roaming over Jon most of all, because he had gathered the brunette held the only Valyrian sword in the room. 

“My good intentions?” Robb spat, furiously. “I’m destroying his enemies! I’m marrying his daughter! I’m--”

Jon moved to his side hastily and gripped his shoulder, trying to calm him down. It seemed to work because Robb relaxed into his touch, but still his face kept the same kindness than a Khalasar of thousands horses to the clumps of mud in the road.

“We don’t mean it as an offense.” Ser Stevron continued, the corner of his eyes shining sharply. “Lady Stark will be an honored guest here. My Lord Father will see to that.”

“He’s right, Robb.” Catelyn said, but her voice was betraying her. “We have already agreed to that. I have no use to you in the south, you know it.”

“What about Riverrun?” he asked, torn between the decision of leaving his mother or breaking their new alliance. “And your father? He’s…”

“I know.” She nodded, strained, but with a hard Tully’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you must keep your word. For your honor.”

He opened his mouth, several times, and closed it, couldn’t bring himself to say what was expected of him. Many times the words “Fuck my honor” wrenched free from his eyes in the form of red and furious sparks. Eighteen years were reduced to nothing if his blood as a Stark didn’t speak now, high and firm, but there was some twisted curse in it, because in order to release his father from his prison cell in King’s Landing he would have to throw his mother into one here. How was that right for anyone?

His eyes reached for Jon’s grey ones, past with past, present with present, trying to connect with that sense of honor they’d been raised up with. And Jon held his gaze as best he could, his thoughts transparent and the world too apparently. Just by accident, Robb remembered their secret, their dual existence as men and wolves, the day they had both confessed they were two parts of one being, but this also brought the same discord he had been stuck with lately. And an answer. Robb might never allow his mother to stay here but Lord Stark did, and he had to act upon that, no matter how hard it was. When a small uptick crawled in his lips, Jon smiled sadly too knowing he had understood it. But also, smiled for something he couldn’t quite yet formulate, but it was there still just like the way the auburn curls would shift into russet and faded gold ones when the sunlight came crawling in his face. 

“Take good care of her.” Lord Stark said, finally.


	8. Chapter Eight

His left cheek itched.

It took him some time to collect what he remembered of the previous night, where and how were now basically the same cycle a sword and a shield would embrace themselves in too, but he was currently blinded by cavernous holes in his head, something he was clearly not used to. He didn’t remember this bed, for instance. Or the tent. If he was wearing a helmet now and someone was banging it with one of Mikken’s swords, that’d probably make more sense than this. The feeling was so intoxicating he’ll probably expel the real him in any moment, the man who never smiled, the man who always lets others’ happiness came first rather than his own, the man who used his voice more times to inflict discipline than laugh. Somehow, since his Father had been arrested, his whole life had started over around those three blocks, three faces of just one man, maybe it was the Winterfell’ seat now shadowing his frame, maybe it was the blood of the First Men running through his veins, maybe it was only being Robb Stark, but none of them belonged more to a boy, any boy, than it did to a crude rather inhuman dispute between the man who goes to war, and the man who dies in a war. Sometimes, waking up meant not owning his breath, or sometimes waking up was just an illution for he had never really gone to sleep at all.

“You’re the one who’s holding all this together.” A cruel voice told him, in his head. With many faces. For many days. “If you fail…” 

Last night, he had slept like he never did in his whole life. But the reality was that he had collapsed, with his armor on, and still his body hadn’t made any objections when he found himself in a tangle of soft fur and mail plate. He rolled over his back and hazily drank in the ceiling of the tent, just before his eyelashes ventured on the pale sheer of sunlight, streaming through the windows. It was nice, and relaxing. Two things he had long exiled in his life. And now, he could actually hear his own breath, soft and calm. When was the last time he had woken up like that? Still, he had no idea where he was, but whoever this tent belongs to, he was very lucky to have the sunrise all to himself, a gift between the distant snowcapped mountains. And the scent, too.

His lifted his eyes and looked down on the pillow, supporting his weight with his arms. He knew this scent. If a collapse of time sent them both to different epochs, he would still recognize it. It was piney, and rain and something he had picked up in Winterfell for the last eighteen years. Golden eyes meet him eagerly from the bearskin rug on the floor, and there’s a wagging in his furry tail, along with a lifted paw, but there’s also a look of reproach in the direwolf, towards him. Robb held his breath.

“This is Jon’s bed, right?” He asked Grey Wind, knowing the answer.

Robb exhaled deeply and sat on the bed. He looked around rather shyly, and felt a pang of guilt all of the sudden. He had never truly visited Jon’s tent since he arrived from the Wall, it was always his brother coming to him that the other way around. And now, he had slept in his bed. It was crazy. But to be honest, it felt good. And better still when he missed it. Jon’s tent wasn’t as big as his, but the secret was it had been lifted in a far edge of the perimeter, where almost no urgent voices, the sound of a too crowded men encampment, could reach. And his, well, his tent was in the middle of chaos, where usually the two vans crashed in. A wild and totally way out line side of him told him he needed to come here more often.

Grey Wind resumed his gnawing on a pitiful bone, which probably belonged to Ghost, and Robb huffed. Now, they’d both stolen something from their brothers. He stood up and reached a basin of water in the other end, splashing his face with water which tasted like morning. And probably, the last morning here at the Twins. Tomorrow, they’d resume their march to the Riverlands, without his mother.

He was still upset. With the Freys, with their bloody sense of property in the damn crossing, and with himself most of all. His mother wasn’t happy either, and that was eating him inside. All he could do was try to not be eaten whole, so his mind would also be bothered with the Kingslayer’s capture, which was kind of more urgent. But it was so hard. There was no room for anything else in his life, and when it did, it would be to remember the cynical engagement he had placed himself in. With one of Walder Frey’s daughters no less. Sad blue eyes trailed back to the bed and a sense of emptiness raced down his body unexpectedly. Jon’s scent still lingered on him with possession, but it was slowly drifting away.

Would something ever stay together in a Stark’s life? He wondered, sighing. Not in his, that’s for sure. Whoever his bride would be, he wondered if he’d ever wake up next to her with the same contentment he did today.

There’s a faint knock on one of the tent’s posts. Robb only had time to grab a washcloth and dry his red wet curls, when he’s ran over with the thought he was actually in Jon’s tent, and whoever was looking for him, wouldn’t expect his brother instead. Grey Wind lifted his head as well, ears perked up, and his current meal forgotten.

“I know it’s you in there, Robb.” Theon’s voice urged him, from the other side. “Can I come in?”

Robb sighed again, beaten, and mumbled an assent. He sat again on the mattress and Theon Greyjoy stepped in, like he was volunteering into a prison pen. Robb watched him, eyebrows raised, beneath his tangled red hair.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I looked into your tent and you weren’t there. There wasn’t anywhere else I could think of.” He explained shortly. Without really moving inside, he stayed under the open flaps, hesitantly. 

“So, what do you want?” Robb asked. Somehow, it appeared he was talking to his younger brothers after one of their tantrums, rather than his formal best friend.

Theon bit his lip one of three times, and seemed to search for strength in the vacuum of the room. Jon’s personal property was proving to be therapeutic because Greyjoy’s eyes changed, and now were shouting hope and frustration at the same time.

“I wanted to apologize.” He said, avoiding his eyes. “I was an idiot. You’re doing everything you can, and better I think. I was probably jealous, and angry…” 

“So, that’s why you decided to humiliate me in front of all of my men?” Robb asked, acidly. “Do you really think my life has been all about jumping into heavy armor, inspiring soldiers to die bravely for me and leading war councils where each and one of them miss their families more than they want to save my father?”

“I know, Robb. I know. And I’m sorry....” Theon breathed, painfully, struck probably with a heavy boulder but he kept on going. “I know how hard this is for you, probably more than anybody else. You’re the brother I chose, still, and I’m not here to make that any more difficult. I had to talk to Snow to see that.”

Robb’s blue eyes widened at the mention of his brother, or the fact they’d actually talked to each other about him. Theon took the moment and came closer, so Robb could see in his eyes how sorry he was. Being any other way, he would never allow himself to be scolded by Jon, above all people.

“He told me a lot of things I probably deserved. And he didn’t kill me because I had to come here and make a complete fool out of myself.”

He laughed, but it was just for a bit. All these days, he hadn’t stopped once to think how Jon was actually helping him with everything. When he was drained after hours of war councils and strategic planning, Robb would often find him giving quick disarming lessons to the younger troops, or riding ahead with his uncle Brynden to support the outriders, or even keeping company to his direwolf with Ghost, when he couldn’t. Now, he felt even guiltier.

“You can leave that for later.” Robb said, finally. His hard gaze softened and Grey Wind placed his enormous head on his lap, affectionally, licking his fingers first and then eager for a rub on his snout. “I will kind of need your head straight for the battle so…”

Theon smiled and nodded.

“Do you know…” Robb began, uncomfortably. “… why I am here?”

“You don’t remember?” Theon asked, startled. But his lips were curving into an amused smirk. “I’m guessing Snow brought you here. You spent the whole night fighting with Black Walder in the fire and then, you passed out of exhaustion.”

Robb felt a tingle in his mouth and then, he remembered. He didn’t pass out of exhaustion. He was trying hard not to warg as that idiot kept comparing Bran with one of the many wives of his great-grandfather who died after falling from a horse. He surprisingly succeeded without spilling blood, but the effort left him without a single drop of energy. The quarrels went on the entire night. It obviously did not help that a drunken Smalljon started calling one of Lord Frey’s bastard girls with nobility titles, which amused a vast majority of Northmen, but it wasn’t very funny to their brood. And the small Ser Danwell Frey received a lump in his head when he insulted Dacey Mormont’s morning star. 

“Next time, try to be more careful.” Theon advised, reading his thoughts. “Black Walder is paired with you against the Kingslayer, and it won’t do any good if you’re at each others throats all of the time.”

“Yeah… I know that.” Robb growled.

That was the last thing he needed to hear right now. Most of the Freys were strategically placed in the western flank of the valley where they would ambush the Kingslayer, under his command, and that was meant on purpose. The western flank was to be the first force charging towards Lannister’s cavalry, seconded by the eastern flank, commanded by the Mormonts and Umbers, and lastly the north, which was claimed by Lord Karstark and his men. Robb had the majority of men, seeing as once the Kingslayer saw him first, his bloodthirst would dull his senses enough to turn the battle to their favor. Of course, that also meant he was to be overly exposed. But if the Blackfish was right, the Lannisters had no idea what was coming to them. Robb felt his rough breath coming out, this strategy was one of his children, product of his many sleepless nights and he hoped with all his soul it could turn out right for the sake of everyone.

Heavy in thought, he didn’t notice a female shape blocking the light the way in. But once he raised his chin, he was thrown a bit off-balance. A girl with rather weaselly appearance which spoke for her Frey’s heritage, was leaning against the entrance waiting, without so much of decorum, for Theon to end his business with him. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and wondered since where she was there, listening to the both of them. 

“Theon, who is she?” He asked, afraid of the answer.

“One of Walder Frey’s girls.” He replied, and stood up. The girl smiled at him, dreamily, and he hooked his arm around her shoulders. “Walda, I think.”

“I’m Mellara.” She pouted. Theon only shrugged one shoulder, and whirled to Robb again, who blinks, startled. 

“We’ll be in the apple orchard.” He announced, and Robb shut his eyes, trying not to deduce what that meant. “Just let me know when we’ll be marching again.”

And just like that, Theon set off with the girl. Robb only sighed, feeling a whip of the past slashing at his face, and one hand went up to collect his wet red curls in a tiny ponytail behind his head, before releasing dramatically. Then, he whirled and tided the bed with such care as only Sansa would. Grey Wind watched him in every motion and wagged his tail when he was done, ready for a stroll. Lastly, Robb took his swordbelt from the peg in the wall, and fastened it around his waist, troubling himself with thoughts of how late it was.

One step out of the tent and… 

He saw it with the corner of his eye, the sound came later. And he dodged nimbly before a shaft hit his head, still the angle of his face permitted to see clearly one of his curls lying lifelessly in the ground. He swallowed, and his eyes went back and forth, big as moons, first to an arrow now coming out of an unlucky tent wall, and then, to a tremendously nervous Ser Perwyn Frey, who was holding a bow in his trembling hand and shouting apologies, while some of the Northmen were mocking him for his terrible aim.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He cried, bending his head frenetically. 

Robb was blank, but it was because of his nerves. He had the impression the Freys were doing everything to screw up their alliance, including try to murder him.

 

“Another letter from your mother?” He heard himself saying.

The sound of arrows hissing through crude morning air was so close he could almost swear some old books from the shelves in the library were being hit. Practice outside Castle Black was tedious this morning, more than any other, and he would’ve joined them as usual, but this day he had made it to the rookery to tend Maester Aemon’s ravens, only to later bury himself to read one of the scrolls inside the library’s stonewalls. He only read it once, when Lord Commander Mormont placed it in his hands, after telling him the words himself. But ever since, Jon needed closure and the only way of doing that was repeating its content again. Alone. 

But the door creaked open. And Sam was there as well, joining him. He was reading a scroll as well, with the wax seal of House Tarly, and as usual he looked troubled. Sam feared his family had heard of the White Walker’s attacks, well not his family but his mother. Yet, it seemed the letter didn’t show any of that. He squatted next to him, in a chair full of dust, his eyes going up and down in a flurry. Jon offered to pour him a horn of ale too, but Sam refused with a shook.

“I know my father hates me.” Sam confessed, after biting his lips a few times. “But my mother doesn’t write anything else but my brother’s deeds in Horn Hill. I almost died…”

“You can’t expect them to know about the White Walkers, Sam.” Jon told him, patiently. “The Seven Kingdoms have other worries now. Besides, I don’t think they would’ve believed it.”

Sam chewed on that, and his arms fell heavily at both sides. His look filled with frustration.

“I don’t like when you do that.” He said, rather demandingly. Jon looked puzzled.

“Do what?”

“Speak as if you know what it feels.” The boy from Horn Hill confessed. “My father wanted to kill me and pretend I died in a hunting accident. Now I came here and this is all I got from them. Your family cares about you, Jon.”

“Cares about me?” He spat. “I’m a bastard. Winterfell was never a place for bastards and yet there I was for eighteen years. Lady Stark wanted me dead since the moment my Father returned from the war with me in his arms.”

“But you think they’d have done it?” Sam asked, with brilliant eyes. “Fake a hunting accident for you? What would you do if that happened?”

“Of course they woul— ” But Jon stopped rather brusquely. 

He had imagined that all his life, because he had seen it in Lady Stark’s eyes. And now that Sam was mentioning it, this unspoken truth was as clear as her wordlessly yearns. He didn’t know if it would be in a hunting accident or not, but all the times Lady Stark refused to meet his pleading eyes with love, he would venture in the cruel world of imagination where sooner or later she set him on a trap and… Nothing happened. Nothing happened because there was someone who promised to protect him no matter what. He had a child voice, but his eyes were blazing blue, and his hair furious red. And even if he had to fight his own mother, he would do it… for him. All the times it takes. 

“Robb wouldn’t allow it.” Jon finally said. And he felt rather ashamed Sam knew that better than him, because he saw a smile in his friend’s lips. Though, he didn’t know what it meant.

“And now?” Jon looked at him questionably.

“Now?”

“Well, he spent days outside Castle Black pretending to be someone by the name Sundance.” Sam explained, while the fire cracked with a gleeful glow. “You told me he came looking for an assassin’s trail, but even if you try to deny it, he didn’t come here for that, Jon. He came because of you.”

“Jon! Jon! Are you okay?”

He was pulled out of his thoughts roughly. His grey eyes opened to the present and his heavy breathing crashed against a day which tasted like dew, from atop his black horse. His dreams were fading like the mist behind their marching column, and for once he was glad he was in the rearguard, so none would see his poor attempts at staying awake. Jon rode with Lord Bolton’s second army early in the morning, just to see them off as they made their way down the Kingsroad to engage with Tywin Lannister’s forces. Somewhere, in the front line, he could see the Lord of the Dreadfort talking with Robett Glover and Wylis Manderly, while he kept a slow trot along with Harrion, and Jared Frey in the back. Or tried to. 

He mumbled a quick response to Harrion, and his eyes again fell forward, the reins loosed freely between his hands like the tall brown grasses swinging at their wake. 

The sun was a big dragon breath high in their heads, probably that’s why he remembered… that talk with Sam before he left the Wall. That’s got to be it.

“Maybe you should’ve stayed back in the camp.” Harrion told him. “They could use more hands there. Especially after what happened last night.”

Jon chuckled, but out of courtesy more than amusement. Though the words “Starks of Winterfell” and “Freys of the Crossing” rang the entire night as promises of peace and prosperity between both houses, the reality had been far more distant. And even to this moment, he could still not believe everything went on without someone shouting for his missing limps or red eye. A joke or two, well they could manage that, they’re northerners after all, but when provocations started to arise this way and that, wine between, there was hardly room for laugher. He had wondered, after dodging a few flying goblets, if this alliance laid in firm ground, saying that it did only because Robb was marrying one of Lord Frey’s daughters, should mean something, yet everything about last night had only served to throw dirt into that statement. And as much as he liked that, still that was a line too thin to cross. 

“I trust the Northerners Lords.” Jon replied to his friend, feeling the briskly breeze of the morning toying with his black strands of hair. “I know they’ll behave… from now on.”

Still, something about that made him feel uneasy. Northerners lords… yes, they’re quick-tempered and all that. None of them were very fond of the Lord of the Crossing, that was plain true. But Robb… He had the feeling something was really upsetting him, for he never really spoke some sense into his own men, as he should have. He had been, not as loud as the Greatjon, but in his own way, occupied fighting with Black Walder, who had the nerve to speak about Bran the way he did. Jon was as angry as Robb, and wanted to hit him as much as he did, but he wasn’t the heir of Winterfell, he wasn’t the nucleus that brought everything together. He knew, or had the theory, the tip of the iceberg was Lady Stark chained here, every now and then, he had caught the redhead looking in her direction with sad eyes, powerless, and it hurt him so much to see him like that. “Robb wouldn’t allow it” He remembered. Well, he wished he was in his place this time, and not allow his misery to take what he loved the most about him, just like his did when they were little, but as much as he wanted to, Jon didn’t have the power to make things better now. No one had.

“I must apologize for my brothers and cousins last night too.” Jared Frey expressed, coarsely. “I admit things got a little out of hands. We just… like to protect what is ours.”

“You and your brothers seem like good fighters, Ser Jared. Given what happened last night, I wouldn’t think otherwise.” said Jon respectfully, knowing diplomacy enough to know that phrase should praise the old Lord.

“Ha!” The man said cheerfully. “You should say that to my Father.”

His old eyes then, rested on Longclaw’s scabbard with curiosity. There wasn’t any Frey who to this day hadn’t looked at it with a bit too much interest in their eyes, some of them even dared to ask him about the sword, but it was plain clear there was something about it which utterly intrigued most of the masculine branch of House Frey. Maybe they have never seen a Valyrian sword before, which could be a valid reason, still it was hard to think that, as far as he knew Walder Frey and his forces were present at the Battle of the Trident, even late, and his Father had Ice with him all the time. Those stares made him feel uneasy though, and right now, he wished he had left Longclaw next to Robb’s sleeping form in his bed. Protected. Safe. 

“So, how many men in the Night’s Watch have swords like this?” He asked, as Jon knew he will.

“Well, I’m the only one.”

“That explains a lot. Sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch, you are. For my father, those are only empty words. Everyone knows what the Wall really is.” Jared Frey confessed, keeping a cold grin in his face. “He always says it’s a place for thieves and criminals, boys who will never know what is like to be inside a woman, or father one hundred children. We could provide men to fight, as we know you’re in need of them, but he doesn’t believe much in oaths which contemplate a life of—”

“I can only guess how Lord Frey likes his oaths to be.” Jon interrupted him, knowing it was impolite, but just couldn’t stop himself.

“He might change his mind if he sees the kind of weaponry you use. Not even Tywin Lannister has a Valyrian sword of his own, and lately he has grown very fond of competing with the great Warden of the West.” The man chuckled, and there was an inquisitive glare or two toward Longclaw again.

Jon felt disgusted. How many arrangements, marital or not, this old man thinks he can make just to secure the future of his house? He wondered if Westeros was even prepared, or could spare some lords, ladies and mystical swords left, for this Frey fever of proposals. Of course Walder Frey would feel insulted when confronted with an order such as the Night’s Watch, it was like introducing the Common Tongue to High Valyrian and expect a miracle. His hand reached fast the wolf-shape pommel, in a warning manner, his brow furrowed, and even his horse read the tension, for his horseshoes pawed at the carpet of dirt with discontent.

“This sword is not mine to give, my Lord.” Jon replied, cautiously. “I’m sorry to disappoint your Lord Father. Guess House Frey and House Lannister will have to measure each other using only what each can apply in the battleground. Surely, that’s something you were clearly used to in the past.”

“That’s a shame.” He continued, ignoring the jest. “I guess I have to take small comfort in seeing it during Small Council meetings… providing they still take place in the future.”

“What do you mean?” Harrion asked.

“You should know it better than me. Lord Stark wasn’t pleased at all when learning his mother won’t be joining him to Riverrun, as was expected. He’s a young boy, so I don’t blame him. Who really wants to see his mother like that? Still, against his wishes, he agreed to that.”

“Robb knows perfectly well what he did and why.”

“Does he? Correct me if I’m wrong but I believe your Father knew what he was doing as well, or so he claimed. And where is he now?” 

Jon looked at him and said nothing. He catch Lord Bolton’s pale gaze from almost a mile ahead, and knew the vanguard had finally merged together with the Kingsroad. He pulled on the reins, and Jared Frey threw one last wry smile at him before moving away. Jon only watched them for a moment, and felt the taste of grass in his mouth thanks to the wind… or so he believed. Sighing, he wheeled his horse around and galloped back to the Twins.

Red eyes were already waiting for him at the end of the road. And he glimpsed the campsite again, or what remained of it. This was their last day here, and sergeants were the first to make that clear to everyone unlucky enough to be in their way. A squad of riders moved the wagons aside so Jon could ride on, the direwolf wagged his snow-white tail happy to see him again. He even stayed in a light-mood when a skinny young boy came rushing to his side, kind of flushed. Jon reined up and watched him, neutrally. 

“My lord…” He said, breathlessly, taking the reins from him while the brunette swung down off his mount.

“There’s no need to call me my lord, Olyvar.” He told Robb’s squire. The redhead had insisted the boy served as his squire also, though there was absolutely no reason at all.

“Lord Stark… requested me to deliver your armor. I left it in your tent, as he commanded.”

“I have my own armor.” Jon replied, puzzled. He had made sure to visit Donal Noye’s armory before coming here.

“Well… He, hum… insisted you should wear one of his.” Olyvar prompted. “As you know, you both have the same body. I mean, not the same body… you’re two different— My lord… Ser.”

“Okay, I’ll speak with him later.” He smiled as Olyvar bowed before taking the horse to the stalls.

Jon took off his gloves and hanged them in his belt while he moved forward. The absence of two thousand men was like having both legs and arms cut off from their spine. He walked to the Umber’s campfires and found Robb there, giving instructions to the Greatjon to follow him when they cross the span between both banks. Then, Theon came behind him and whispered something, Jon didn’t know what it was but instantly Robb was laughing.

He smiled inwardly. He hadn’t heard that sound in a long time. And it felt really good to hear it again.

He stood there, stiff, not really sure if he should break the moment or enjoy it while it lasted. His left hand felt slick under his fingers and he didn’t know how many times he watched the wind picking up the red curls in a swirl, like the distant ripples in the Green Fork. Then, Robb moved his eyes and they met. His laugh slowly faded away, but his eyes kept smiling in a more shaded mood. He bit his lips once of twice, and then moved away from Theon to get closer, never breaking their gaze. When, he was only a few inches from him, Jon noticed the redness in his face, the same as his hair, but the tired expression under his eyes was gone, meaning he had finally slept last night.

“Hi…” Robb said, simply.

“Hi…” Jon replied, raising his eyebrow. Blue eyes parted then, and Jon saw him studying hard his shape, as if Robb was afraid the Freys had done something to him while he was away.

“You… uhm, took me to your tent last night.” Jon crossed his arms and blew a strand of black hair away from his nose, then watched him again.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered, confusingly. “Are you upset?”

“No…” Robb shook his head, his lips were almost dry before replying. “Thank you. But where did you…”

“With Ghost and Grey Wind.” The white direwolf was up in an instant and circled Robb’s leg, stating his words. “They make a good bed.”

Robb didn’t look pleased with that. He tapped Ghost’s head thoughtfully, while in the back, the Greatjon was shouting at two boys who were disassembling a heavy ironwood plank.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He said, narrowing his eyes, with a quote of skepticism.

“It’s okay. You did the same when you were at the Wall…” Jon stated, and Robb looked surprised, as if he didn’t remember that, or was it something that happened a long time ago. He sulked, and Jon, after a while, added amusingly. “…playing hero.”

Robb blinked, offended, and stepped forward to gently hit his shoulder but Jon moved back first, laughing, holding both hands up.

“I saved your life.” Robb accused, with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Yes, but you take too much credit for that.” Jon laughed, the same glint in his eyes as well.

“Well, maybe you’re the one playing hero now.” He declared playfully, his eyebrow lifted, and his arms crossed over his chest. “Taking my finest warriors away to go after Lord Bolton.”

Jon knew he was sarcastically referring to the Freys who went with him this morning, and he chuckled. Finest warriors, well, he wasn’t so sure about that, but he did agree they could fit for warriors with the keenest eye for weaponry. “Your father knew what he was doing as well, and where is he now?” He remembered, but pushed it away as quickly as it came. 

“Blood warriors, you mean.” He stated. “You will be related, after all.”

Robb’s smile died abruptly, like someone had thrown bucket of water at him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything and his face received a slight spray of water from the Green Fork, almost like a slap from Walder Frey to remind him he was in fact pledged to his daughter. That man was everywhere.

“Jon… I—” He began, not really sure of his choice of words. 

“Robb…” He heard at his back and turned around to see his mother.

Catelyn was pale, her eyes were red-rimmed, meaning she had been crying, but still that did not placate her usual cold stare toward Jon, polished over the years. Robb swallowed, and Jon immediately diverted his eyes, not sure if he should do the same with his proximity.

“May I speak with you, alone?” She asked.

The redhead was blank. He had been hoping to spend more time with his brother, he was sure his mother did too know this, but her eyes and her stance made plenty of clear that wasn’t in her contemplations. He opened his mouth to protest, but Jon tugged on his hand and encouraged him. Defeated, Robb shrank his shoulders and walked to her. Mother and son took a short tour, but they didn’t wander far, so when Jon kneeled to play with Ghost, he accidentally catch every word in their conversation.

“So, you’re spending time with him, now?”

“He’s my brother, mother.”

“Edmure is my brother too. And yet I can’t see him.”

“You agreed to it, remember?” Robb declared, exasperatedly. “What do you want me to do?”

“I agreed to it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Are you serious?” His tone was harsh. “You looked into my eyes and said you were okay with this. How can you do this to me now?”

“I know what I said, Robb.” She barely whispered. “I know I said I’d stay here and I know this means I won’t see you, ever again, yet when I told you to go on with it I thought you knew it as well. You knew you’re leaving your mother. And you still choose to be with Jon Snow instead of—”

“Don’t you dare start with him.”

“You started it! You’re taking him to Riverrun, my ancestral home.” 

“Of course I am!” His eyes flared. “How can you be so selfish? You’re doing exactly the same thing you did when Bran wouldn’t wake up and I am done with that. I offered to send you back to Winterfell and you refused me, now that you’re staying here, you’re not happy either. I cannot undo what you did now, I can’t take you to Riverrun with me after I said the words, you know that so you better start living with it…”

If Robb said something more, Jon didn’t hear it. He didn’t even know if he was still there, with Catelyn, or if he had gone. Sooner or later, this was going to happen. He should’ve known. How could he not see it before? How could he when his sole presence there was the reason she rebelled like that? If it were any other way around, maybe things would’ve been different, but this time was like seeing his childhood all over again.

Why did I ever come here in the first place? He thought, bitterly. For a single moment, Jon thought this might work, but now he wasn’t as sure as before. He wasn’t sure at all. Maybe he had been wrong about Robb. Maybe he had been wrong about everything.

Catelyn abandoned her son, running away, and Robb stood still, unmoving, with his curls falling before his eyes. Then, he lifted his chin and caught again Jon’s look. He didn’t smile this time. And somehow, without asking for it, Jared Frey’s words came crudely back to him. When Robb turned around and left, they didn’t however. He wondered if maybe tonight he could wash them away with wine but he had the feeling nothing was strong enough for that.

“Damn it.” He whispered, to no one in particular.

 

The sun had already set when the horses rode back. 

The very few circles of firelight that remained in the North’s Army welcomed them as they spurred forward. First, came Ser Stevron, who looked just like someone had told him he had the van of Robb’s army, and then three of his brothers or half-brothers, Jon wasn’t sure at this point. He knew if he stop and think about it, it would start hunting him again, just as it did when he was talking with Walder Frey, but now it was done. He bit his lips, lacking of something more corporeal to release his frustration, and remained in the shelter of his silence.

“Boy…” Ser Stevron whispered, without looking. He neared his horse to his so they’d speak more comfortably. “Why did you do it?”

Why? It was a question Jon had asked himself all day probably. Yet, he did not answer. 

“You Northerners are strange people…” He chuckled and said nothing else.

She was there when they arrived, talking with Lord Glover. Her face still a pool of sadness from the previous fight with his son, still nothing stopped her shock when she saw him approaching with Lord Frey’s sons. One of them rushed to her side to tell her the news and her hands almost dropped the mug of wine, clapping her mouth in the attempt. Catelyn looked at him with what it seemed like disbelief and confusion all at once, and who could blame her.

As he dismounted, she closed the distance between them with wary steps, like a frightened animal. Her eyes roamed over his swordbelt, looking for any sign to refute the young Frey’s words, but found nothing. And so she searched the depths of his eyes. For the first time in his life, she was looking straight at him and nothing of her spoke of hatred or displeasure. Nothing of her spoke of the cruel words she had said about him earlier.

“Your sword…” She muttered, a question dawning in her eyes.

“Yes…” He affirmed, shortly. You’re free to go to Riverrun, he wanted to add. And if this it what it takes for you to stop tormenting your son, I’d gladly do it again.

“Thank you…” Catelyn said, while tears of relief threatened to well up in her eyes.

Jon only nodded, struck probably for the weight of those few words, which he had long to hear for his entire life. They did not however had the same effect on him as he always thought they would. Feeling bold all of the sudden, he only turned on his heels and replied, without looking.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

 

He let his body hit the mattress, drained as if Pyp, Grenn and Rast had taken turns to duel him in the courtyard at Castle Black. Ironically, this was his first day without a sword, a Valyrian sword, and even so his body couldn’t seem to release the exhaustion like those long afternoons in the past. Lifting his head slightly, he caught how the tallow candles created the illution of swords of fire dancing across the walls, throwing that into his face, a slap, and how the furs beneath him missed the weight of Longclaw too. There was even a funny arrow (which he didn’t remember to be here when he left) jutting out of one of the walls, and it too looked angry at him. He breathed in and out, but the air did not help. 

Looking back, he remembered the day he received it. The dark metal between his fingers glittered like a friend, or at least that’s how he had liked to think of Longclaw. It reminded him of Ice, it reminded him of family, in a place where there wasn’t such a thing and probably never will. Still, he didn’t think he deserved it. And now, what would his past self say about this? It’s seemed like some sick joke. Walder Frey, the new owner of one of the remaining Valyrian swords in the North. Jon closed his eyes. If this was about him and something selfishly his, nothing could justify what he did, but this wasn’t about him and Walder Frey wouldn’t accept any other thing in exchange for Lady Stark. The North could talk, but at least it was safe. And this sacrifice was the only thing that could provide that.

This was only the easy part, though. Now, came the real thing.

He stood up and walked to the nightstand, where he found a flag of wine and poured himself a glass, hoping for anything strong to come down his throat other than Robb’s sword. 

Leaning against the stout structure, he heard the sound of boots slamming against the muddy soil several yards away, and braced himself. Three, two, one. And he released a sigh just about the time the tent flaps burst wildly open.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

Robb stood at the entrance, knees separated, defiant stance and shoulders pressed back to look bigger. He didn’t even bother to knock first. He was angry, like never before. Jon only watched him unblinkingly, with a “you should know better” look. Robb’s tricks to inspire fear on soldiers were all useless on him, as he should’ve known. After all, they did grow up together.

“Robb…” He began, cautiously, but Robb cut him off, waving his hand furiously.

“Have you lost your mind?” He yelled, dark blue raging in his depths. “Why? It was YOUR sword. Lord Commander gave it to you. Why did you do it?”

“Would you rather prefer they had kept your mother at the Twins?”

“Of course not!” He replied and sounded like a growl from a dangerous predator. His eyes made plenty of clear he wasn’t in the mood for games. “But… this.” His head shook and his curls followed not too kindly, because now to top all things, a jumble of words caught in his throat drained his ability to speak decently. “I can’t… I can’t let you do this.”

Jon sighed, and straightened his back, but he had the feeling that wasn’t very well-played. He was a few inches taller than Robb, so his size now did not help to smooth the redhead’s irritation.

“There’s no turning back now.” He admitted. “I already did it. And I don’t regret it.”

“This is crazy. Why would you do something like that, Jon?” He growled finally, and kicked the end of the bed in frustration. His curls flew around like a wrecked thing. “Longclaw was a gift to you! It’s the only Valyrian sword we have left in the North. It was now, apparently. That crazy old man will never give it back to you, don’t you understand?”

“You are the one who don’t understand.”

“If this is about my mother—” Robb kept mumbling, and the fact that his brother was looking at anything in the room but him was annoying Jon more than he let it show.

“No, Robb.” He denied, frowning. Did he honestly not see? “This is about you. If Walder Frey had captured your mother, do you think you’d be able to fight with a clear head in the south? Do you think you’d be able to ride in the vanguard knowing your mother is not free? It was a high price to pay, but I did it because there was no other way out.”

Robb did a sound that appeared to be half laugh, half snort. But it worked because his blue eyes finally sought Jon’s grey ones and both stared into one another. 

“What a bunch of bullshit.” He sneered, and closed the distance between them so they’d be only inches apart. “You’re only saying that because you know you made a mistake. I could have offered thousands things to Walder Frey, things he could only dream of having. Things I know I could do without. Longclaw –wasn’t”.

“Why?” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, stern and unflinching. “Because you’re the only one rebelling against the crown?”

“No, because I promised Mormont two Valyrian swords for the Night’s Watch. How will I explain to him that I only have one to give, if I ever get it out of King’s Landing first?” He took a painful breath, and his eyes rested on the floor with a shudder. “Besides… That sword was important to you. I never wanted you to throw it away for something of my own doing.”

You’re important to me, Jon thinks. He too looks away in the room, because he also didn’t trust his eyes. He bit his lower lip a couple of times longingly, they were standing so close to each other their scents… well, having their scents combined wasn’t something he was prepared for.

“You only promised one sword to him. He knew what he was doing when he gave me Longclaw. Just like I know what I’m doing now.” Looking at him, between his eyelashes, he added. “You need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Robb hissed, eyes widened like he had just come up with something funny. “When you’re doing things behind my back? When you clearly don’t think about the consequences of your actions? I thought for once in your life you had listened to the things I said to you.”

Jon clenched his fists at both sides, and looked deep into him with scorn.

“I’ve been doing that all my fucking life, Robb. Always following you, always listening to you, always doing the things you want me to. But this time it’s not going to be like that anymore. Go on, hate me if that makes you feel better. I always did everything you ask me to, long since I can remember. And that’s never going to change.” He took a sharp breath, more arduous than Lannister goldsmiths’ work and tried, again. “This, though… And what you’re doing to yourself… I can’t watch it.”

Robb swallowed, feeling lighter and dizzy all of the sudden. He looked just as if someone had slapped him in his face, and oddly did not process when, or how, did they end up standing so close to each other. His eyes betrayed him then, he didn’t want to look elusive yet he let them roll up and down his brother’s chest and caught then, how lonely his swordbelt looked now. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he stepped forward and his fingers reached it, toying with the leather for a bit, as if missing Longclaw’s weight there. Jon held his breath, when after a while, Robb didn’t remove his hand, but instead placed it along his waistline, and one of his fingers hooked there. 

“This means you’ll be unprotected…” He whispered in Jon’s ear, sending shivers across his spine. “And that’s something I don’t look forward to see either.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He told him, trying to conceal the nerves in his voice. “I didn’t have Longclaw before. It’ll be just like all those times fighting in the courtyard at Winterfell.”

Robb sighed sadly, and stepped back. He turned on his heels and walked to the tent entrance, his cloak skirting across the floor. But before leaving, his eyes went back to Jon’s, with his hand uplifted to support the fabric over his head.

“No, it won’t.” He confessed, looking over his shoulder at him. “It can never be like that again.”


End file.
